


Happenstance

by FreakCityPrincess



Series: Fire of Rebellion [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Badass Rebelcaptain, F/M, Field Missions, First Time, Heavy Angst, In which the Alliance is a dark place, Interdependence, Mutual pining across the galaxy, Not So Unrequited Feelings, Post-War, Pre-Battle of Endor, RebelCaptain Secret Santa Exchange 2018, References to Star Wars Battlefront: Twilight Company, Soldiers supporting soldiers, Star Wars worldbuilding, War & Politics, post battle of Scarif, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakCityPrincess/pseuds/FreakCityPrincess
Summary: Even while the debris of what used to be an unstoppable superweapon showers across the skies, and even when they’ve brought home a broken band of rebels saved from the shores of Scarif, Command doesn’t let abject disobedience go unpunished.For her, it’s an endless cycle of transfers from one ground military unit to another. For him, it’s simply a demotion in rank and a month of suspension from active field duty.They weren’t supposed to see each other again. Somehow, the tides of war make it happen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anothersadsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anothersadsong/gifts).



> Season's greetings from your RC secret santa!
> 
> I absolutely enjoyed working on this fic, and I hope it's what you were looking for. I decided to integrate all the prompts you sent in because they were all great. 
> 
> **Prompt:** unrequited love that's actually very requited/ first times/ after the war 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

**Scarif**

 

The world rattles and reverberates in brilliant orange sparks around them, but for the first time they can no longer see it, and the sounds are drowned out by the creaking cogs of a falling turbolift. 

 _Down,_  down it goes, making their heart rates come back down and their bodies feel lighter.

There's darkness and there's brilliant white light peeking through the open slot-windows as the unsteady thing descends. They're leaning back against opposite walls; in these confines the space between them is minimal.

Jyn can only discern his features whenever the light falls, but she feels more than sees the intensity of his gaze. It burns into the sweat-streaked skin around her eyes, keeping her focus firmly held in place.

The exhilaration of transmitting the plans, running from the ghost in white, climbing up a data tower, boarding a shuttle on Yavin- it all feels like a lifetime ago, and she's only thinking ahead, only desperately considering their options at this point.

Before, she was prepared to march to her death. Now she's not so sure.

The turbolift grinds to a violent halt, throwing his battered frame into her, and she reacts in time to bracket an arm around his ribs. Cassian curses softly. The obvious pain in his voice sends cold tendrils of fear spiking through her aching heart.

They stumble onto hot sand and salt-tinged wind together, and she tastes blood on her tongue and her senses are alight with pain and purpose.

She has to get him out of here. There are fighters, there are rampant AT-ACTs, and she has a sinking feeling it's only going to get worse.

Jyn shields the body of a dead rebel from his view as they struggle to get to safety.. She doesn't know where she goes from here, but she's been a survivor all her life- and damn them, damn the galaxy and everything in it if she can't find a way to get him out of here.

Cassian Andor has known war all his life. When he dies, she doesn't want it to be in the crossfires of a battle.

 _(For the first time in a long, long while, she's not thinking of saving herself.)_  
  
"Leave," Cassian grunts, trying to bear some of his weight on his own. "Leave me, Jyn. You can still make it."

The ferocity and conviction of her replying voice comes as a surprise to her. "I'm not leaving you."

He coughs blood. Not a lot, but there is definitely a red shine to his chapped lips and chin now. "Please."  
  
"You came back for me," Jyn snaps, and she's more surprised at the blurriness in her vision, the angry tears brimming in her eyes that isn't because of the salty bite of sea breeze. "Now I'm saving your ass. We're even after this."  
  
His expression is reasonable as he looks at her. Adapts an infuriatingly calm, gentle tone. "You can't save us both."  
  
" _Watch me_ ," hisses Jyn, and maybe she sounds petulant, but she stands straighter under the weight of his arm slung around her shoulder, hefting him up by the other side. She lets every protest that follows fall on deaf, single-minded ears.

And as if the Force answered her prayers- or succumbed to her threats, considering the turmoil in her head- their salvation comes. 

It's a light freighter, simply sitting stationary in the sand. Banged up and dented, but otherwise unscathed. Jyn can scarcely believe her eyes. At her side, Cassian goes rigid. 

Because of course there are a ‘troopers prepping it up for flight. An Imperial pilot being assisted by wayside Stormtroopers. Every one of them is armed. 

“We don't stand a chance.” Cassian’s arm around her shoulder slackens, and he starts to pull away. “But if you go on your own- if you can reach a rebel ship-”

They're shielded by a barricade of black sandbags, stacked up tall enough to facilitate them. It's not the best cover, and they're open from the other side. Jyn shuts him out, evaluates their position. She's good at this. She's good at surviving.

Cassian drops to his knees on the sand, keeping half a wary eye on the flight prep happening before them. Six ‘troopers and an armed pilot. 

“Maybe-” He clears his throat, wipers more quietly and hoarsely when Jyn turns to him. “If you can create a distraction, get them at least to the treeline, I can get inside and fire up the ship.” 

It doesn't sound like a good plan, but they don't have a lot of options. Jyn crouches beside him. He looks pained, barely keeping it together after the fall he'd taken. She doubts he can run or do much else without support. “Think you can make it?”

Cassian huffs a humourless laugh. “No. But I don't have any other ideas.”

Part of her wants to lift her eyes to the skies and curse the Alliance and the Empire every other force that was responsible for getting them to this point, and part of her wants to crack a smile at his dead-man humour. She just presses her lips tight together and squeezes his hand.

“If I can't get back in time,” she hopes she sounds firm and he won't argue with her. “Go. You have to get out of here, get back to the Alliance. See that our objective is met.”

 _See that the Death Star is destroyed,_ she thinks, but she doesn't say it. And there are other reasons, bigger reasons besides that, for her wanting him to be the one to live. She doesn't want to think about them now, or ever, seeing as her time is perilously close to its end.  

But Cassian's eyes are dark, and she knows she isn't going to get her way.

“I'm not going to run away and be the only one who gets back home, Jyn.”

She sighs through her her nose. Keeps her eyes trained on his and offers a tight, reluctant nod. 

 _Both of us or none of us._ It is a compromise.

Cassian leans forward and presses a kiss to the edge of her mouth. She freezes, for a heartbeat, but it feels too right, it feels _deserved-_ so she lets her fear leave her and relaxes under the small point of contact.

He encloses her hand in his with something roughly the size of a hand grenade, and when she looks down the lightest of smiles curve her lips. It _is_ a grenade, a shape she knows. An unfamiliar make, but unmistakable.

“Plant it and come back. Hurry.” It's half an order, half a plea. She feels sharper, her head clear. Everything is in focus, has taken on a remarkable clarity, and she knows that this is a task within her framework.

“I will.”

The distant beach is alive with activity, firing ships, walkers, and ground troops. She starts to stalk her way across the emptier terrain, back in the direction they came from, threatened only by the cross-reference shots of X-Wings and TIEs engaged with each other, though that is threat enough. Her body aches but she pays it no attention. Determination gets her close to the treeline behind them, and she imagines that, far away, Cassian crawls back along the sides of the barricade to make himself scarce. No one picks her up; she's just another stray soldier running, unidentifiable in the distance as Empire or Rebellion, and ultimately unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

It's touch-and-go. It's as simple as a game of tag, but far more difficult, dire, unachievable. But it's a partisan tactic, even if better armies don't employ it.

Partisan soldiers sent to create _distractions_ never planned on returning alive. She had no option but to. She shouldn't have agreed to his terms.

It's unclear how much of time the venture takes. She has a long way to traverse, back and forth, and a limited window of time once the grenade is set off. She can only hope that it'll be distraction enough, and not just another explosion droned out by the other sounds of battle.

She's at half the way back when it detonates.

The force of it nearly throws her off her feet, and she only spares a second to glance back- it's perfect. It's a perfect distraction.

The treeline is on fire, and the smoke is thick and rushing their way.

Jyn finds her way back to the sort of base they've established only to find the opposite of their intentions happening; the ‘troopers are falling back, getting away from the thick cloud of oppressive smoke headed their way.

Her heart drops to her stomach. The ship is starting to move.

She's struck with a fresh wave of panic when she realises that Cassian _isn't here_.

The troopers shout orders and warnings over the comlinks and fall back, seemingly in tandem with the ship that is starting to take off. She doesn't spot the pilot with them. He's probably taking the areal way out.

Just as the last of the ‘troopers have retreated as far back as they are willing to go, calling for reinforcements, the Zeta class lifts off the ground. Jyn can only stare up, smoke in her eyes, as it hovers, prepares for a turn.

Its turn takes it over her head, and she can see the dents in its underbelly as it prepares to shoot forward into safety.

The hatch is open. The hatch is wide open, and she doesn't have anywhere else to go.

Not thinking it through, she hauls herself off the wall of sandbags and catches on. Claws her way up the ramp, rolls into the darkness of the ship’s interior. She struggles to her feet and stares out at the impending smog. Two walkers are headed towards it from behind. It is drawing more Imperial attention, crowding up, and counterproductive to their- _her_ aims.

Because Cassian isn't here, and all her escapes are cut.

Jyn slams her hand over the controls, making the ramp close it and stop more smoke from entering her eyes. So what if she alerts the pilot to her presence? It would just come down to which one of them was better with their fists and blasters, anyway.

Jyn braces herself against the hull, keeping low, and forces the contents of her stomach down when the ship accelerates. Soon they're sailing through the wartorn skies, and she has an Imperial pilot to deal with.

Despite the imminent danger, she feels more alone she ever has, and she tries to not think of how and why Cassian left, or if he'd been captured or killed and she simply hadn't seen the body. She'd have time to reflect later. Right now she needs to do what she’s good at and save herself. 

Jyn keeps her blaster arm outstretched as she makes her way to the cockpit. She's not an expert at flying or hyperlane trajectories, and she may need the pilot alive. Better to have him alive at the end of her blaster than otherwise.

As soon as the ship rights itself and seems to be on a smooth course, she darts into the cockpit. 

The mouth of her blaster presses into the head at the pilot’s seat.

“Don't move,” she snarls. 

She has to be imagining it- the pilot’s shoulders _loosen_ at the sound of her voice.

“Jyn,” says Cassian, an exhale of relief riding his breath. 

Jyn stumbles back, eyes wide, and he turns around- yes, it's him, he's _there,_ but what about the Imperial pilot who-

“I took the pilot in,” Cassian says, still sounding breathless. “They had to think he was flying the ship, or they would've opened fire. I thought you'd figure I did that and climb aboard when I made that turn.”

“I didn't- _what?_ ” Jyn drops her blaster at her side, incredulous now. “You expected me to assume you had the strength to kidnap a pilot and apprehend him? You looked half dead!” 

He sighs, but there's no mistaking his relief. And her own, which is starting to hit her at full force, making her knees feel weak. 

But he has his reservations.

“So there's a chance you wouldn't have climbed aboard. That's- not okay, Jyn.”

“Yeah, well, I'm here now,” she bites, without real aggression. Their eyes stay connected for a moment. Then he studies her, scanning over her for injuries, a quick check-in before he can turn back to the controls. Numbly, she picks up her blaster, holsters it, and makes her way to the co-pilot’s seat.

He steers the ship away when it gets perilously close to the crossfire of an A-Wing and a TIE. 

“What happened to the pilot?” she hears herself ask.

Cassian purses his lips. “Dead. Down in the hold.”

She does not say anything to reassure him. He knows what his actions are and of their necessity; he doesn't need someone else to point it out. 

But there's something else. There's something else to the way he's holding himself, and it worries her because Cassian is not an easy man to read. Something is clawing at him, making him uneasy.

“What is it?” she asks quietly. 

“It feels like running away,” he responds at once. “I lead those people here. I have no right to make it out while they die fighting on that beach.”

Jyn had known this was coming. “You need to be sure the plans have made it. Complete your mission.”

He barks a bitter laugh. “I won't be fighting the Empire in this state, Jyn.”

They both know it's the excuse she thought of to get him to agree, to let him help her save his life as well. He's not doing this for himself (he doesn't want this); he's doing this for her. 

She doesn't want to make it, either. It feels all degrees of wrong. But she doesn't want him to die here.

“There's still time,” says Jyn, objectively not meeting his eyes.

Cassian does not respond. She thinks he knows what's she getting at.

The battle before them, in the viewport, is terrifyingly close. A chord is struck in her; she feels, suddenly, like this is a battle reaching its climax, that the winner is going to be decided very soon.

She's right. Moments later, the Death Star arrives.

 

**************

  **YAVIN IV**

The cycle of war was simple; someone struck a flint and it became an all-consuming fire, and if that fire was doused peace would last until someone lit a spark again.  
  
Scarif was not a flint that caused the war. The war had been going on for decades. But it was the first real victory that wasn't the Empire's, and for that High Command decided that they had to be punished.  
  
It didn't matter that they had a fighting chance now. Some idiot on the Council had been insistent that Scarif caused the war. Jyn could've laughed in his face. Some other formally-educated fool had suggested the brig for disregarding orders. Every other Council idiot who hadn't fought on Scarif had consented, but Jyn had known better than to think her punishment would end with the brig.  
  
She looked up at the sound of chains rattling to see a shrouded figure opening her cell. A pale face watched her through the bad lighting.  
  
"You're permitted to visit the medbay," he disclosed nervously, like his prisoner was feral. "For the next two hours. Follow me."

She briefly considered resisting the binders slapped around her wrists, but told herself that would only make the situation worse. Besides, this rebel didn't look so tough. If the need arose, she could take him, binders and all.  
  
She was escorted like a convict on the death row to the medical wing on Yavin, through zigzagging stone corridors that smelled of history and old age. They asked her to sit on a low bunk while a droid applied bacta to her burns, something she could've done herself if her hands weren't tied together. The nurses eventually left her to it, murmuring conspicuously among themselves, giving her the chance to close her eyes and take in the incorrigible noises of the room outside her curtain until fragments of conversation came to her. Various rebel voices, some human, some alien and some in native tongues she didn't understand. There seemed to be one common theme of conversation, though.

 _“I heard the plans didn't make it."_  
  
" _Don't be a kriffing poodran, Hal, why the hell wouldn't they make it? Our whole fleet was up there waiting to collect them."_

_"It's just what I heard, okay? And...and why would they throw that girl in the brig if they did get the plans?"_

" _She damn near started a mutiny, that's why! She's going to get worse than the brig if the plans don't come back!"_  
  
Jyn brought her knees to her chest and leaned against the wall, blocking everything out but the quiet buzz of the medical droid, a re-modified astromech who was doing a bad job of patching her up.  
  
_It doesn't belong here._  
  
"Me too, buddy," she murmured, absently patting the droid's crown with her free hand. "Me too."

**___________**

  
News reached her that Cassian had spent a full week in and out of bacta treatment in the form of the familiar, nameless guard in charge of her cell. If the rebellion was willing to expend so great an amount of medical resources on him, she had hope that he wouldn't pay too severe a price for her actions.   
  
_Our actions_ , she thought fiercely.  
  
Then one day, when she was pacing her cell and wondering what ill-intentioned joke the Force would pull on her next, her nameless guard- a boy so fragile-looking that he had to be younger than her in both years and experience- came running down the cold stone corridor with excitement in his voice and tears in his eyes.

His knuckles went white around the bars of her prison cell as he burst with the triumphant news.

The Death Star had been reduced to hunks of debris amid victorious rebel starfighters.

“You did this,” the boy sobbed, his unrelenting smile contrasting with the severity of the emotion in his voice. “ _You_ did this, Sergeant Erso. We won. We really won.”

She wasn’t aware that anyone outside of their Scarif crew had known of the title. She was too stunned to ask. Only twelve hours ago she had seen the boy, when he’d come down with rations for the Alliance’s prisoner, with eyes that were a bloody tinge of red from crying, and he had barely managed to choke the words out. _Alderaan is gone_.

And now the Death Star was gone, too.

She didn’t say much when the boy chattered on, lost in the turmoil of her own thoughts. But later in the day, when evening descended upon the walls of the ziggurat she was trapped in, a different guard came to her and asked that she stepped out of the brig. She wasn’t sure what to expect- congratulations? An apology? Or would the Alliance be generous enough to let her select a ship that would carry her far away from here, to a corner of the galaxy where she could do them no harm? But they kept her along the way in stun-cuffs, so she wasn’t optimistic.

They removed the cuffs only in front of a thin curtain in the very deepest reaches of the medbay. Faint music was playing from somewhere in the dark corner. She didn’t understand why the visit was special or what it had to do with the recent rebel victory, but she was kindly told that she could sit behind the curtain.

Jyn rubbed the red marks on her wrists, and did as she was told without protest. She knew a lost cause when she saw one.

There was a bunk behind the blue curtain, but it was clearly not meant for her. The patient had been propped up against the wall using a plush pillow that almost looked cozy. She could discern the colour of a medbay gown, with sleeves she knew from experience were irritable, and a tube connected to a crude-looking canola on one end and drip fluid on the other. 

She could only stare dumbfounded as Cassian smiled at her, his eyes bright and crinkling, and even with the raw stitches under his chin and over his brow, she had never seen him look more alive than in this moment.

Her legs didn’t feel like her own as she shakily made her way forward, inched awkwardly closer. She wanted to crush him in a hug. She wanted to scrutinise his every stitch just to be sure medbay had fixed the damage he’d taken. Part of her was afraid of these feelings, and part of her yearned painfully for this one person who’d always come back for her, who’d kept coming back. 

He raised his free hand, and she took it. Squeezed tightly.

“We did it,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “It’s gone, Jyn.”

She reminded herself to relax her grip on his fingers. “Serchill, the others- do they know?” 

Cassian nodded minutely. An oppressive weight lifted off her shoulders. “Good. I’m glad that you’re- that you’re back. Breathing and all.” She offered up a weak smile.

His thumb skimmed an aimless pattern over the knuckles. “I was always here. Breathing.”

“I meant without a mask.”

“Oh.” He quirked an eyebrow. It stretched the stitched line that swathed across his forehead, but he didn’t wince or hiss in pain; a faint grin found its way to his lips, tilting up the corners. “Now that you mention, that _is_ a relief.” 

The medbay’s air was cold, but his palm was so, so warm in hers. She unwittingly allowed her own responding grin to be seen before both pairs of eyes simultaneously drifted down to their joined hands.

But that playful light was lost in Cassian’s gaze when he brought it back up to her face. “Where have they been keeping you, Jyn?” 

She closed her eyes, barely stopping herself from cursing under her breath. He’d seen the red marks on her wrists. If she’d had the foresight to cover them up-

“Brig.” She added quickly when a sudden expression of fury crossed his face, “But I’m alright. They didn’t do anything else. I think I got the biggest cell; very spacious, lots of privacy.” 

From the narrowing space between his brows, Jyn knew that her joking tone and half-smile weren’t fooling him. 

He turned her hand over in his palm, studying the other side. Her fingers twitched restlessly. 

“I need to have a word with Draven,” he murmured. The repressed anger now was in chilling contrast to his previous good mood, almost to a terrifying extent. 

But Jyn didn’t find the voice to object. Cassian was a stubborn man once he’d made up his mind, and she wasn’t wholly opposed to his idea either. Yes, she didn’t feel she had to be defended, or that _he_ had to step in for her benefit, but it would be satisfying to have the rebellion’s dubious ethics shoved in their faces by one of their own. She didn’t need it to actually change anything, as it most probably wouldn’t; it was enough if he got the Alliance to burn with shame for their actions, before and during and after Scarif. 

She met his eyes again. “Okay.”

He held her gaze with piercing intensity for what felt like the longest while, before his shoulders dropped in a loud, tired sigh.

She settled on the footstool beside his bunk. They eventually ventured into tentative conversation- safer, easier topics, ones that did not revolve solely around the present condition of the war. 

Her allocated time slot was called to an end by a quiet voice outside the curtain that nervously informed them that she had to be getting back by this time. Jyn recognized- and was a shred thankful for- her familiar cell guard, the boy who’d wept for Alderaan and hadn’t held it against the rebels on Scarif.

Cassian let her press the lightest of kisses to his knuckles, beside the spot where the needle dug in.

Unthinkingly, Jyn promised herself that the next one would be on his lips.  

**___________**

 

At least the brig on Yavin IV was spacious, with tall stone walls and a cold floor. After a few more days elapsed, she was allowed regular visits to medbay, but it was mostly for her own condition to be monitored and Cassian remained, for the most part, submerged in a bacta tank. A sympathetic councilmember, maybe, or the undeniable fact that Scarif had led to the Death Star's destruction two weeks ago, and rebels were still celebrating the victory although Command feared for the nearby future and blamed their fears on her.

So it was a surprise, and a suspicious one at that, when the guard she'd grown to recognize by face turned up at the brig one evening, past the allocated time for her medical visit, and unlocked her cell gate.

She allowed the restraining binders, as if she would lash out and run away without them- she would like to, but Jyn knew enough about running away that she knew not to contemplate it when there was nowhere left to go- and followed him down the paths of the ziggurat with a hostile kind of obedience.

The guard came to stop at a cheap plastic door fixed to the stone pyramid, and hesitantly reached out to unshackle her. She hid her suspicion. She hasn't been unshackled once outside of medbay. She tensed instead of relaxing.

She was allowed into the chamber on her own. The first thing that struck her was the smell- musky and ancient like the rest of the Yavin jungle, but tinged with a cleaner earthy undertone than the rest of the Base. This was a well-maintained room. Significantly fewer lush green lichens clung to the walls, and the bigger stone blocks were polished clean. Why anyone would go through the trouble was something she couldn’t fathom until it dawned on her- this was a room for the Alliance to greet visiting dignitaries.

Two figures were waiting in the center of the room, crowded around a wide wooden table. Both wore long white dresses of slightly varying design. Jyn walked up them, but not all the way forward.

"Why am I here?" she asked, no small amount of restraint on the impatience in her voice. She didn’t  like the Alliance and she didn’t like their games. Being holed up in the spacious brig had more appeal than playing along with them.

"A good question," said one of the figures; the taller woman with lines of age around her eyes and red hair. Jyn's posture became defensive. The last time she'd seen Senator Mothma was when the Council had turned down their plea to infiltrate Scarif. "And I ask you not to worry, Jyn. There are only friends in this room, and we would like to negotiate a next step that is in your best interests."

Jyn faltered. "My best interests," she echoed, in thinly veiled, calm sarcasm. "Because everything has been in my _best interests_ so far, haven't they? You ordered Galen Erso to be assassinated when he was the only one who could've shed some light on the Empire's weapon. And then, because of _your_ failure, we were left with no choice but to go to Scarif and get the plans on half-assed information. On a vital mission that _you_ didn't sanction, resulting in far more deaths than there should've been." She clicked her tongue, lower jaw trembling with fury, and hurt, and the memory of all the lost lives that the Alliance had allowed. "I would be very grateful if you stopped doing things in my best interests, Senator."

Mothma's lips pressed together in a thin line- not out of offense, but in a way that expressed regret and distaste for the things past- although it was the other presence in the room that responded first.

"The Alliance has done nothing in your best interests," she said, and the steel in the new voice cut through Jyn's cloud of anger. "But we aren't representing the Alliance when we make you this offer. We want to make things right."

The second figure in white was a girl only a couple of years younger than herself if she was to hazard a guess. Jyn knew better than to underestimate a child- she’d been part of Saw Guerrera's war machine at a lesser age. But this girl's words sounded like confidence and self-assurance only, and not a delivery she was capable of.

"You can't make it right," said Jyn, a resigned note slipping into her voice. This was not a fight she had the energy for. "Thanks for the offer."

"Miss Erso," started the younger woman, stern. There was more authority in her voice than Jyn had heard coming from Imperial officers. "We are well aware that you are not fond of the Alliance, as you have every right to be. The Death Star is gone-" She paused. Fixed Jyn with eyes which she recognised immediately as those of a person in pain.

The girl's voice was a nibble softer when she cleared her throat and spoke again. "And there will never be another calamity like Alderaan, because of what you and your team accomplished on Scarif. So believe me when I tell you that I don't agree with Command's decision to throw you in the brig, and understand that I am offering you a way out."

The hint of steel in the girl's diplomatic voice was enough to prompt Jyn to take a step back.

There were two kinds of people as to where Alderaan was concerned. One kind blamed Galen Erso and did not receive her well. The other kind were rebels like the guard at the brig, angry that she was being treated this way, hailing her a hero but powerless to really do anything of help.

Powerless.

But the girl had Senator Mothma backing whatever plan she was about to put on the table.

"I'm listening," said Jyn, straightening her spine, shifting her expression to attentive but uninterested.

She had no friends here. Whatever their motives may have been, she could only trust herself.

 Mothma took control of the conversation, but her voice was kinder, resonable.

"We will give you whatever you ask for," she started, mildly. "Credits, rations, clothes. A functioning ship. You can take it, go wherever you want. You need not keep connections with the Alliance. There are no strings attached to this deal."

Her throat felt suddenly dry. "You want me to run away."

"We promised you freedom at the beginning. You have more than fulfilled your end of the bargain, and now it's time for us to fulfill ours."

Jyn was shaking her head before the Senator was done talking. "You really think I'll be free? The Empire has my name on an arrest warrant, and once your Alliance gets to know that I'm out there with knowledge about them, I'll become a wanted person in those quarters as well. There will be nothing in this damned galaxy that I don't have to run away from."

"Jyn," said the girl, and the use of her first name drew her attention. "We will not let the Alliance come after you."

"This isn't exactly a legitimate deal in their eyes," commented Jyn dryly.

"Not yet." The girl looked self-assured, nonchalant. "Once you've left, Mothma and I will tell them that we sent you away, and that you didn't just steal a ship and leave. They will not appreciate it, but they won't be able to do much at that point besides accept that it happened."

Jyn snorted. "And they'll just lie back and take it."

"They'll be angry," the girl conceded with a sigh. "But we have bigger issues on our hands than one escaped prisoner who only knows where our compromised base is.”

Jyn pursed her lips, still too doubtful to be truly comfortable about this deal, but decided to stop asking questions.

"If you stay with the Alliance," said Mothma, in a voice soft that she barely picked it up, "We can't foresee what will happen to you, Jyn. There are others in positions of power who don't believe your actions are justified, and they will look to punish you for it."

"I don't mind the brig," Jyn shrugged. "Spacious as far as prisons go. More leg room than I'm used to."

Mothma and the girl offered tiny smiles in response to her half-hearted humour, but nobody lost touch of the gravity of the situation. Her situation.

 _Take it,_ screamed a voice in the back of her head. _Take the offer and run, run, run._

 _Aren't you sick of running?_ countered a different voice.

 _Can you stand to watch the Imperial flag reign across the galaxy?_ asked Saw.

_There is nothing for you out there. Here they might forgive you and give you a place at least._

_But I hate them. I hate them_.

So she couldn’t quite understand why what finally came out of her mouth was, "What happens to Cassian?"

 _Fuck_.  
  
Her negotiators looked at one another in momentary surprise.

_You gave away a weakness._

_Idiot. Moron._

Then the girl looked sympathetic. "We don't know. He's part of the Alliance, and the punishment for insubordination can be...severe, on those grounds, but he is also a valuable contributor to our cause. He is a highly valued Alliance asset, and Intelligence needs him. A demotion, or suspension from active field duty at best."

"At worst?" Jyn's words disobeyed her.

"Captain Andor did not betray us to the Empire," Mon replied when the girl in white paused. "He went against orders, but that's not treachery. He will not get the worst of punishments because those are reserved for traitors, not...acts of rebellion."

Jyn snorted at the irony.

"Take the offer," the girl implored. "There are no written laws that protect you the same way."

"I'll consider it," Jyn heard herself say. "I will. I need a few days."

 _What the hell for? Go, take it now. You heard them. They can't protect you here_ .

_I almost gave my life to this cause on Scarif. I can't go back to ignoring it now._

_They don't want you in their fight._

_It's not_ **_theirs_** _._

_And I can't fight on my own._

"We can give you three days," said the girl at last. They stared each other down for what felt like ages, Jyn lost in her scrambling thoughts and the girl seemingly studying them through her eyes, until she broke off the staring match as if being hit with a sudden realisation.

"I don't believe I introduced myself," she shook her head, coming forward. "Sorry about that. Things just sort of ran away at the beginning there."

Jyn distracted from her thoughts by shaking the hand held out to her, taking that life line out of the darkening cave in her mind. “You didn't. I was starting to get curious."

"Well, I won't keep you curious forever, Jyn." The girl grinned, but in an uncocky, unassuming way. “My name is Leia Organa.”

 

 

_[AUDIO LOG; UNKNOWN SENDER//WARNING:POTENTIAL MALWARE]_

_[_ ** _CLICK TO OPEN_ ** _//NOT RECOMMENDED]_

 

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Hi. I'm not- not entirely certain that I've secured this channel enough. *static rush*{interpret:cough} It's good to talk to you. Recovery is going well._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Keep in touch._

_[_ ** _MESSAGE WILL BE TERMINATED SHORTLY_ ** _]_

 

 

_[AUDIO LOG; REPLY; UNKNOWN SOURCE//WARNING:POTENTIAL MALWARE]_

_[_ ** _CLICK TO OPEN_ ** _//NOT RECOMMENDED]_

 _[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: Good to hear from you. It's...I'm alright, current job isn't difficult. Good luck with your recovery. Uh…_  

 _[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: I'll work on securing this thing on my end. Then- yeah, then we can talk properly._  

 _[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: Reply when you can._  

**_[MESSAGE SENT]_ **

 

 

_[AUDIO LOG; UNKNOWN SENDER//WARNING: POTENTIAL MALWARE]_

_[_ **_CLICK TO OPEN_ ** _//NOT RECOMMENDED]_

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Hi, it’s me again. I’ve managed to secure this channel, but there may be a...ah, location trigger, so try to keep from naming places. It was the best I could do without- It was the best I could do._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: If you need anything, tell me. I might be able to put a few words in on your behalf._  

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: I got to know you were with the 40th. That’s...that’s good, Jyn, it really is. They’re good people and they’ll have your back._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Stay safe._  

**_[MESSAGE WILL BE TERMINATED SHORTLY]_**

 

 

_AUDIO LOG; REPLY; UNKNOWN SOURCE//WARNING:POTENTIAL MALWARE]_

_[_ **_CLICK TO OPEN_ ** _//NOT RECOMMENDED]_  

 _[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: Hey. Yeah, you’re right about that, they’re good. *static rush*{interpret:bad signal} I disabled the location trigger. Not entirely, but it won’t be so sensitive anymore, so you can— yeah, just not planet names, vague regions should work fine though._  

 _[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: I hope your recovery is going well._  

_[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: Met a guy in my band who said he’s worked with you. *static rush*{interpret:laugh} Always breathing down my neck. Tries to keep me from breaking it._

_[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: *static rush*{interpret:bad signal}_  

_[UNKNOWN SOURCE]: Keep in touch._

**_[MESSAGE SENT]_ **

 

 

**Cortis Minor**

 

Activis did not sprawl like other industrial cities; its commercial structures were few and far between, and away from the mines most of it was barren land. Security this far out the perimeter was lenient. A squad of five ‘troopers and no more patrolled the uninhabited wasteland- all the Empire was willing to invest in its new facility as of now. If they’d been aware that the facility wasn’t as tight a secret, there would’ve definitely been more protection around it; the thorny shrubbery and clusters of large rocks made for excellent cover for anyone trying to launch an attack.

But what would they attack? Not even the natives a few miles away knew that the Empire was experimenting with chemical weaponry in their isolated, unsuspecting complex of squat buildings that bothered no one. 

“Security’s crap, but they’ve got a three-sixty camera system,” grunted Commander Lysander, handing her his bulky macro-binoculars. “We can’t shoot the place up, Force knows what they have in there that’ll explode. Thoughts, Erso?” 

Jyn set the binoculars down carefully, flattening herself further against the scorching sand. The pathetic ‘trooper patrol was out of their sights, but it was unwise to take their cover for granted. After all, they were sixteen rebels; they hadn’t the numbers to storm a facility that could host more guards inside, but they _were_ enough to be recognised as a group if spotted. 

“Only reconnaissance,” she reminded him. “We’re not supposed to do anything yet.” 

“Reconnaissance won’t happen from all the way here, and the one man we have up ahead doesn’t quite get the job done.” 

“Tell that to the idiots who sent us here instead of an agent,” snorted Jyn, turning back around. She dropped herself from the elevated ground, sliding into the trench of sand in which the rest of their group were waiting for instructions.

Jyn leaned her back against one of the boulder-sized rocks, feeling its heat through her shirt and the hot desert sand under her thighs. The rebels had all stripped themselves of whatever clothing they could spare- ditching jackets, shirts, swapping out thermal boots for thinner ones- but the sun battered down mercilessly. Her face had to be red, the exposed skin sunburnt, and sweat streaked in rivulets down her cheeks and chest. No jacket, no scarf. Her kyber crystal was safely tucked away in a groove of her left boot, away from possible prying eyes. 

Lysander was alright, most of her group was at least reliable, but—

Jyn knew not to trust anyone, even if they were fighting for the same side. 

“Fuck no-contact protocols,” huffed the Commander at last, joining the rest of them in the trench. The sun had turned his skin several shades darker. “This counts for an emergency. I’m asking Command to at least send us someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Dadonna is going to be pissed.” One of the women whistled. “We’re all going to get grilled for breaking protocol.” 

“They forced us into this wayside stop while we were _on the way back home after a mission,”_ the Drabata of their company spat. “They fucked the protocols first.” 

There was a round of agreeing grunts and a few amused snorts. Lysander thumbed at his wrist-comp with the patience of a toddler whose entertainment datapad wasn’t working.

“Signal’s jammed again. Must be the chemical weapons. Or hell, I don’t know, the sun.” The Commander tapped at the tiny screen, then spoke into the microphone as soon as it rushed with static. “Itoph? Lieutenant, report in.”

There was a garbled mess of audio from the other end of the line, which Jyn only managed to catch the faintest traces of. She understood why Lysander and many of the others were in a worse mood than usually observed on field missions- the heatwave was merciless, and the coarse sand peppered along their necks didn’t help, either. If it weren’t for this sudden call to action, their company would be well on their way to Home I by this point, a well-deserved break after four and a half continual months running an operation in the Outer Rim territories. 

The Commander was terse as he picked apart the garbled audio, making sense of their scout on the ground. “Alliance, out here? That Command didn’t tell us about?” 

A reply broken up by the bad signal. Wisps of static interrupting the scout’s voice. Lysander’s expression grew darker, progressively more suspicious. 

“It’s bullshit. I don’t know what the Imperials are trying to achieve- what do you mean it makes fucking sense? Alright, does the bastard have any ident on them?”

The rest of the company watched wearily as their head decided to stand up and take his shouting match a distance away. 

Jyn laid her head back against the boulder and closed her eyes, trying to be grateful that Cortis Minor had only one sun, not two or three. Distantly, she could feel a building headache, starting from the base of her skull and threatening to spread to the front. The four months spent fighting Imperial troops on the ground on an obscure Outer Rim planet had taken its toll on all of them; she had a fresh new spattering of bruises, a new scar prominent under her chin and an ankle that felt broken but not quite- it was far from the worse place she’d been in, but coupled together with exertion and Command’s latest act of idiocy, a part of her liked to digress. 

Lysander came back with orders to break camp, and the disgruntled news that they were to rendezvous with their scout at a different location by the crack of dawn the following morning. Not that dawn was the assigned time- it would simply take eight hours for the journey there, which needed to be taken by foot. 

But the soldiers had had their fill of complaining, and followed his orders without objection having accepted that this was their mission now. The Commander had them break into three groups for purposes of stealth. 

“We’re going back to the Activis Trade Zone,” he told them. “I know this may not be your area of expertise, but I want every one of you to blend in with the locals as much as possible. Stay together as a discreet group, don’t all congregate in the same place, and don’t seek me out until I give you the green light to do it. We have a tricky situation on our hands, but you can avoid screwing up if you follow my instructions.” 

 _Blend in with the locals_ was a far cry from the explosive warfare they’d engaged in the past four months. Whoever in Command had decided to set them up to this had merely seen a resource in a convenient place and thought to put it to use without any consideration for appropriateness. Jyn felt a familiar anger come back- _this_ was how the Alliance fought the war. _This_ was exactly what had cost so many lives on Scarif, and now she was possibly about to see the loss of many more within their company because someone up ahead had meagre planning skills.

_Will it ever end?_

_Will I ever stop regretting that I stayed?_

She hauled her bags and followed Lysander, whose team of four she’d been assigned to.

 

 

The Trade Zone attracted a crowd on Centaxdays, Jyn learnt, comprised of sentients of all kinds from all corners of the galaxy. Vendors set up their shops in the early hours of morning, stalls selling imported fruits that were a rarity in the desert, droid parts, machinery, clothing and fried foodstuffs. The real factor that brought so many people in was anyone’s guess; she didn’t see why an ordinary sales day in a remote region attracted non-natives at all. There had to be something unique to this trade zone- but she didn’t know about it, because this place had only recently become her concern and there hadn’t been a location summary to read beforehand.

Her partner for the time being was Corporal Meeika, a Twi’lek woman more on the likeable side than not. They were seated at a cheap outdoor table discoloured by the sun despite the rainbow-hued umbrella stand sticking out from a puncture on the top, waiting for the Commander’s orders to come through. He’d left over an hour ago with Olio the Drabata to meet their scout and a mystery informant who claimed to be Alliance. Jyn and Meeika were to back them up if things turned ugly.

Meeika had spent the better part of half an hour snarling at passerby-men who dared even look her way. The Twi’leks, least of all those born and bred on Ryloth during the early days of the Empire, had no tolerance for the sexual fetish their kind had been marketed as by Imperial agencies. The natives of Ryloth had too many fresh memories of the times they were forced into slavery and rented as entertainment objects to middle-grade officers with credits to spare. 

 _This galaxy is fucked up._ Jyn’s experiences were different, but she’d experienced a fair portion of the galaxy’s cruelties herself. And it was all supposed to have ended on Scarif, with that profound feeling of peace and accomplishment after transmitting the Death Star plans, after actually doing good for their fucked-up galaxy- but fate really did have a twisted sense of humour.

“You are lost in thought,” observed Meeika, darting a curious but not intrusive glance in her direction. “Has it to do with the mission?”

“There’s a mission?” Jyn asked dryly, letting her lips lift up in a bemused half-smile. 

The other woman chuckled softly. “You are what they would call a riot, Erso.” 

“I try my best.” 

A retort from Meeika was stopped short when her comm suddenly cackled to life, bursting a loud wave of static.

 _“Olio to Erso and Stantar. We have established contact. Commander wants you two on the scene.”_  

They were on their feet and following the location beacon before the Drabata had finished talking. Picking a less-congested route, hiding the rest of their equipment along the way to appear as ordinary pedestrians sharing a comm-call between them. 

“Is there a problem?” Jyn asked as they turned into a deserted alley. Navigating what they figured was the shortest and quickest route. 

 _“No, no problem,”_ came the alien’s voice, robotic and disembodied over the airwaves. _“But you’re gonna want to be here. Hurry the hell up, children.”_

“Who’re you calling children?” growled Meeika.

 _“Oh, have I offended Her Ladyship? By terms of my lifespan and yours, you’re not even a teenage pip-”_  

“Shut up,” Jyn snapped at them both, even if, in that moment, she felt a traitorous, real smile creep into her features, but she bit it down just as soon as she felt it.

They slowed down at a deserted place, far from the crowd and activity of the main streets, that looked almost ghostly in its disuse. The beacon pointed toward a white warehouse with stained walls, squat but not immodest in size, with several yards of desert space between the broken mesh-fence that surrounded it and the slum tents of this corner. Brown-black fungus crawled out of the chipped paint and the building had three barred-off windows that lead to darkness. 

“Welcoming place,” murmured Meeika, pushing the loose fence-gate open with the toes of her boot.

The feeling of desertion fled only after several steps further into the dysfunctional interior of the building, past dripping pipelines and the musky stench of decay. The walls, for some reason or other, did not echo despite the hollowness of the place, and so they only picked up the sound of voices when they neared the source of it. 

The rebels had lit a fire that illuminated the otherwise pitch-black room completely cut off from sunlight. Jyn crinkled her nose at the strong smell of repurposed alcohol- _of course_ the Commander had been carrying a flask with him instead of an actual lighter- as they approached the gathered party from the side at which Lysander and Olio stood, opposite Cadence, their scout, and two unfamiliar figures. 

The Commander angled his chin in their direction in a gesture of introduction. “Kosein, Makin, I’d like you to meet two of our finest soldiers. Call them Erso and Stantar. This plan of ours isn’t going to happen without them.” 

The two men they were being introduced to- apparently the Alliance agents their scout had brought to them- stood in the flickering shadows despite the glare of the flames that cast a bright orange circle along the ground, giving them plenty of light to stand in. 

“Good evening,” said one of the two with all the disembodied politeness of an Alliance official doing business, and the other one- Jyn couldn’t be sure- merely dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“With all due respect, sir,” Meeika started. “We don’t know what the plan is.”

“Glad you asked,” Olio piped up, in that usual smug, condescending manner that he’d learned got under the Twi’lek’s skin faster than anything else. 

“Ah, what the hell,” Lysander rolled his eyes. “Run it through them, Lieutenant. Meanwhile I’m going to go over some details with these two. Gentlemen, if you will.” 

Jyn turned to watch in dry amusement as the Commander lead the two men away, back in the direction of the entrance where the sunlight was. They paused before the room’s exit for a spot of serious-faced conversation, though she suspected that Lysander was still in a dour and overtly sarcastic mood from having to run this mission in the first place- and she froze.

The glow of the fire flickered on and off, giving on and off glimpses of the figures by the doorway. The Commander’s partially attentive expression as he listened to Kosein speak. Kosein, a light-skinned human male who can’t have been more than ten years her senior, and his partner- 

His partner, who had darker skin, unkempt facial hair, sharp cheekbones made obvious in the glare of the flame— brown eyes she would recognise anywhere.

Cassian caught her staring, and looked the other way.

 

 

The cast of the sun felt like a merciless heatwave over the boundless wasteland, burning the bags under her eyes, making sweat pool in her lids and irritate the skin constricted to her breastband. Prickly spots had already formed along her shoulders and upper back- because she was badly sunburnt anyway and because she was alone in her task, Jyn took the initiative to shuck aside her layer, remaining in a thin vest that exposed more skin to sand and sunburn but didn’t stick irritate nearly as much as more clothes.

Her elbows pressed into the rock-face felt like they rested on hot coal. The feeling would dull soon enough. Adjusted the focus of her macrobinoculars. Watched the walls of the facility. Waited for instructions in her ear. 

Tried not to think of Cassian, who hadn’t spoken to her, or given any outward sigh that he recognised her in the first place. The entirety of the previous night when every rebel on board had reconvened. When there was plenty of opportunity to find her alone to explain what the fuck was going on. Or to catch up. They _were_ friends, weren’t they?

 _Allies,_  she corrected herself, the word a bitter reminder that she didn’t have more than that. _We were one-time allies. Doesn’t mean he gives a damn about you now._

She was grateful to be assigned a this position, alone with her thoughts and a blaster and a pair of macrobinoculars, while the two Intelligence officers got into the facility and got whatever they were here to get. Hers was a vital position, of course, should things go wrong; she also had the detonator to the explosives they’d buried under the sand, which would create commotion but probably not rouse anything chemical sitting in that lab. Planting their bombs under the sand had been her idea. Kosein had liked it, but Cassian hadn’t even looked up.

Just what the hell was up with him? Was her sunburnt face unrecognisable, or did he, just like the rest of the Alliance, decide that she wasn’t worth the trouble?

_You’re an idiot for expecting anything different. Everyone leaves. How many times does it have to happen before you learn your lesson?_

She’d had a brief chance to be alone with him, the previous night. Asked him what he was doing here, why he went under a different name.

Cassian’s expression had been carefully neutral, completely unreadable. He hadn’t said anything, and the moment had passed when more people joined them. 

But he’d been so _convincing._ On Scarif, and afterwards. The fleeting kiss before she’d run to save both their lives. _Both of us or none of us._ The soft smile greeting her every time she stepped into the Medbay. The private comlink slipped into her pocket when she’d come to say goodbye. The conversations and the offers to do what he could to have her back.

_Yeah, well, he lies for a living. Should’ve factored that in._

Jyn was pulled out of her thoughts when a rush of static burst in her ear. 

 _“We need cover,”_ came the urgent tone of one of the officers, indistinguishable over the airwaves. _“Everyone assume close positions.”_

She pushed back from the rock, dropping the binoculars to the sand and taking her blaster in hand. Navigating across the barren waste, nearing the site of the building.

 _“I want everyone out!”_ The Commander’s voice was clearer over his channel.

More rebels left their hiding spots. Red lights and alarms blared around the facility as ’troopers surrounded the gates, white plastoid reflecting blindingly in the sun, and there was only a moment, only the usual split-second calm before the storm, before fire was being exchanged and the desert turned confusing and chaotic. 

She saw several ’troopers go down. One or two rebels felled. But they were a tough group, they’d faced Imperial forces for four months this way on trickier terrain and won, they were harder to take down than that. The wasteland came alive with the crossfire. Both groups advancing. A clash of blaster bolts and plastoid and camouflage clothes.

_“Dis—traction—”_

Lysander’s voice in their earpieces. Jyn ignored it. She’d figured it out a while ago, anyway, that this firefight was being used as a distraction while the Intelligence personnel found some backdoor means of escape.

But if there were more ’troopers at bay? Who did they have providing cover at the backdoor? 

She told herself she didn’t do it for Cassian. She knew with certainty she didn’t do it for the Alliance. The _rebellion_ needed this, the greater galaxy would benefit from this- she changed position.

Backtracked. Tapped her comm to reach Lysander. 

“We have the explosives. Call everyone back.”

Static. The rush of blasterbolts. Her pulse, thrumming in her veins. 

_“What?”_

“Call everyone back.” 

There was a deadly pause. She couldn’t recognise the soldiers of her contingent as individuals from where she stood. Another rebel went down. They had the advantage of natural cover on their side, with the rocks and the jagged terrain and higher elevation, but that didn’t mean the Imperials couldn’t score a good shot.

_“Fall back! Fall back!”_

Jyn studied the blast radius of her explosives. No rebels within it, or close enough. Plenty of Imperials having fallen for the ruse, however, advancing. Coming closer to where she wanted them.

She detonated the explosives. Columns of sand shooting into the sky. A terrible silence, and then- 

The rebels had just enough time to dive for cover, crouch and shut their ears, but the Imperials weren’t so lucky. They were hit with the full force of the blast and its sound, deafening, spraying a sandstorm and clouds of dust mixed with smoke, obscuring their view and leaving them disoriented for minutes. 

Jyn took off in search of the backdoor, bypassing the ’troopers who were being surrounded by rebels. The distraction allowed her to make it all the way to the sparse facility. Not a big place unless it extended underground. She had to take down three ’troopers as she circled it. Clumps of desert sand crumbled and turned to dust under feet, and nearing the back of the building she was met with more resistance, all of which she fought to take care of.

She was not unscathed at the end of it. But she was alive at least. 

The compound behind the buildings was cut off with a mesh fence, big loops of barbed wire swirling along the top of it. 

There was no one here. Where were they? Had they already escaped, or had they been caught?

“Jyn!” 

She turned around at once, blaster raised, only to find- 

Cassian, wearing an Imperial uniform. He hadn’t been wearing a uniform when he’d went in.

She looked down his body. He was unarmed. 

“How do you plan on getting out of here?” Jyn asked, forgetting for a moment that they weren’t on talking terms. “And where’s the other guy?” 

“Dead,” said Cassian tightly, and he was trying to school his features into something neutral when he looked at her. “We can’t leave that way. How did you get in?”

“Not important,” she spat, getting back to herself. She studied the mesh fence in front of them, the one that seemingly stretched up to the sky only to end in rusted swirls of death. “We have to turn back.” 

He stepped next to her, keeping his eyes locked on the fence like he was disregarding her suggestion and searching for a way over it. Or keeping his eyes locked on the fence because he couldn’t bring himself to look her way.

Jyn took the initiative, because she knew they were on borrowed time and because she didn’t give a fuck about his valuation of her ideas.

They darted through the spaces between the squat buildings that made the complex, narrowly avoiding a patrol of two ’troopers at once point. All along, she felt his gaze boring holes into the back of her neck. She was breaking protocol to save him. _Save his mission._

She pushed back against a coarse wall and listened to the sounds of battle. Still enough fire to be from both sides. 

_Not for him. Not for the Alliance._

Jyn took down the stormtrooper that turned to stop them at the gate with a perfect shot to the less-guarded midriff.

_For the rebellion._

 

 

Of course, the first thing he did once they’d reconvened with the rebels, tersely discussed their odds and losses with Lysander, after Jyn had explained her actions to the incredibly displeased Commander and they’d all moved as far as possible from the facility that was no doubt calling for TIE reinforcements, was pull her aside and ask what the hell she’d been thinking.

“All you were supposed to do was _provide cover!_ I had the situation perfectly under control and I would’ve found a way out of there without you having to put yourself and the mission at risk, breaking protocol and going against the plan!”

“The plan?” She scoffed, leaning back against the wall of the disused establishment they’d chosen until they could coordinate a way off-planet. “Give me a kriffing break. Your plan was bullshit, and maybe you’d have realised sooner if you’d listened to me last night.”

Cassian gritted his teeth. “If _you_ had ideas, you should’ve pitched them to your Commanding Officer rather than try to get me to hear it. That’s how this works.”

“You think I don’t know how this _works?_ ” Jyn crossed her arms and pushed forward, her teeth bared in a snarl. “I have been in this contingent for more than four fucking months! Of course I bloody well know how this _works._ You think I didn’t do it that way because I wanted to talk to _you?_ The hell do you take me for?”

“There was no reason for you not to tell him—” 

“Yes, there was. I’ve known the man, and the rest of this group, for four fucking months. I know how they operate. I know how they twist up even the simplest of plans during execution because they think they’ve managed to improve it. You were better off with them not knowing shit about what I intended to do because I promise you, on the grounds that _I_ know them and _you don’t_ , there’s a massive chance they’d have screwed everything and your precious mission would’ve ended in failure.”

Cassian’s stare was cold, fixing on her like the pointer of a sniper rifle. “None of which would’ve happened, anyway, because I didn’t need your involvement.” 

She looked up at him brazenly, refusing to relent. It hurt, it fucking _hurt_ that after all this time, nine months after Scarif and two months after their last comm-call, this was the conversation they were having in person. “Then explain how you would’ve gotten out of there. Go ahead.” 

His tone was even, calm with an underline of hostility. “The facility has a system of tunnels running underground, among which there is one specific line which emerges into a safe-zone not two klicks from here. The Commander knew of this. Everyone else, _you included_ , was only told to worry about keeping those ’troopers distracted and you were also specifically told not to keep an eye out for us. Everyone is told only what they need to know. That’s how the system works, Jyn.” 

“Right.” Jyn nodded, feeling a sting in her jaw at the tension she was giving it. “Right. And we’re on first-name basis, Captain? After you refused to so much as look in my direction until a few hours ago?”

“I had my reasons,” Cassian scowled. “And is that what this is about, your irrationality? You’re acting like this because I didn’t talk to you?”

“Piss off.” She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for patience. Fighting back the horrible feeling of tears behind her lids. “You don’t know me.” 

“I don’t,” he agreed, without missing a beat. “And you don’t know me, either. If you knew me you’d have trusted that I had a contingency plan. That I could get myself out of that situation without help from you that I didn’t ask for.” 

Jyn rolled her eyes, a cruel laugh getting caught in her throat. “And your partner getting killed, that was part of your plan going well?”

It was a harsh blow, one she wanted to take back the moment his furious expression shattered, but it was back again in the blink of an eye and he sounded even colder when he crisply declared, “This conversation is over.” 

She held her ground and watched his retreating back as he headed towards the doorway. She tensed as he looked over his shoulder at the last moment.

“And it’s not Captain. It’s Corporal.” 

Jyn swallowed around a thick lump in her throat, a feeling of dreaded finality taking over every inch of her body and tightening around her heart. 

She scrubbed angrily at the water brimming in her lids.

 

 

Once he’d put enough distance between them, Cassian stopped his brisk walk to drive a fist into the wall. 

He sunk to the cold floor, stretching his bad leg out and clutching his aching knuckles.

_Coward. Kriffing coward._

He lost track of the time he spent trying not to let his shivers turn to sobs.

 

 

_[AUDIO LOG: NEW]_

_[SENDER ID: UNKNOWN SENDER]_

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Hey._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: I know I don’t have a right to try to...I know what I did, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness but please hear me out._  

 **_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ ** 

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Jyn. I was an asshole. I didn’t mean to be such a_

**_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ **

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: I want to start with saying that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I acted on [REDACTED] and I’m sorry that these people are doing this to you. You don’t deserve this, Jyn, you deserve so much better._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Before I set out on that mission, they told me...who I would be meeting. I go under a new alias now, most of the time, and I was told- ordered- not to make contact with you, specifically, and I see now that I shouldn’t have listened. But I was afraid that there would be consequences. More than anything I was afraid of—_  

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: I thought it would be best for both of us if we stopped this...correspondence. I’m sorry. It was selfish of me. I was afraid of getting attached._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: It’s not fair how we’ve treated you. If you want, Jyn, if you’re willing to forgive me, I want to be a friend to you._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Keep in touch._

 

**_[SEND TO UNKNOWN RECEIPENT?]_ **

**_[CLICK TO SEND//]_ **

**_[MESSAGE SENT]_ **

 

 

 

 

_[AUDIO LOG: NEW]_

_[SENDER ID: UNKNOWN SENDER]_

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Hi. So...you have every right to be mad at me, but I just...I just want to know how you’re doing, Jyn. And I’m...I’m sorry. Again. If there’s anything you need, if you want a message delivered to the people higher up- please, please let me know._

**_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ **

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Hi. You have every right to be mad at me. I’m sorry. I hope you’re doing alright._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: If there’s any way I can make it up to you_

**_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ ** 

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Hi, it’s me, Cassian. If you didn’t get my last message...I’m sorry for what happened back there. You have every right to be mad at me. You don’t have to forgive me. I just want to know if you’re alright._

_[UNKNOWN SENDER]: Please reply._

 

**_[SEND TO UNKNOWN RECEIPENT?]_ **

**_[CLICK TO SEND//]_ **

**_[MESSAGE SENT]_ **

 

 

 

 

**_[CLICK TO OPEN INBOX//]_ **

 

**_[NEW AUDIO LOGS: 3]_ **

_[AUDIO LOG; REGISTERED SENDER #23465]_

**_[CLICK TO OPEN]_ **

_[AUDIO LOG; REGISTERED SENDER #23788]_

**_[CLICK TO OPEN]_ **

_[AUDIO LOG; MEDICAL BAY]_

**_[CLICK TO OPEN]_ **

 

**_[CLICK TO RUN SCANS//]_ **

 

**_[SCANNING FOR POTENTIAL MALWARE…]_ **

 

**_[MALWARE WARNINGS: 0]_ **

**_[TRANSMISSIONS FROM UNKNOWN SENDERS: 0]_ **

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the amazing support and encouragement for this story!
> 
> ****  
> _Recap:_  
>   
> 
> _"Take the offer," the girl implored. "There are no written laws that protect you the same way."_  
>   
> 
> _Just what the hell was up with him? Was her sunburnt face unrecognisable, or did he, like the rest of the Alliance, decide that she wasn’t worth the trouble?_  
>   
> 
> _“Piss off. You don’t know me.”_  
>   
> 
> _”And it’s not Captain. It’s Corporal.”_  
>     
>  _He sunk to the cold floor, stretching his bad leg out and clutching his aching knuckles. Coward. Kriffing coward._

**Haidoral Prime**

 

Harsh rains had chosen to flood the muggy streets and dense urban clusters of the Mid-Rim world. Mingled with its plastic pollution and industrial waste, the rain brought with it the pungent odour of sulphur and vinegar and Imperial occupation in its late stages.

The camouflage hood over his sniper’s perch gave him little protection from the rain. While it kept his clothes from getting sodden at the back and even his head was relatively dry, water dripped down the opening of the hood from where he watched the entrance of the building ten floors below. Sometimes the rain was swept in his direction by the wind. Lying on his front with his rifle mounted and a consistent ache in his shoulders, the water flooding the rooftop perch from that opening had soaked in through the front of his shirt and made the pain ten times worse.

Cassian was used to long periods in a sniper’s nest, and this was only the end of his first hour. But the bolts of sharp pain that shot up his spine and made his arms unsteady, and made his shoulders feel like they’d been hammered with the body of a missile launcher— that part was all new.

The disdain he had for rains of this sort- harsh, battering down with force and winds that repeatedly altered its course- was also new, born from a bad memory in craggy, treacherous Eadu, on a mission that felt like a lifetime ago.

Eighteen months, to be exact. Give or take a few.

Fourteen months since he’d been released from medbay after multiple surgeries and physical therapy sessions that hadn’t fixed much of anything.

Thirteen months since he’d been given clearance to get back into the field, one low-risk op at a time, with a new identity and a rank below.

Cassian looked over his shoulder and down when his comm chirped, a red light blinking from under a stream of muddy water. He scooped it out of the mud, shaking it dry before holding it close to his ear. “What’s the holdup, Rig-Two?”

He breathed evenly through the rush of static. Careless as he’d been with his health in the past, half a dozen spinal implants was more than he was willing to put up with, so the plan, as soon as his job here was done, was to find a sonic and get himself dry before the water got him sick.

 _“Looks like there won’t be work here,”_  came the voice of his contact, sounding even more nervous than usual. _“The Gov- er, the target has changed location. He’s gone somewhere else.”_  

Cassian irritably blinked the water out of his eyes. “Elaborate.”

He could imagine the Rodian- a willing contributor to the rebellion’s cause, family man who wanted to get involved but not too involved, and inside-man in the Imperial system set up on Haidoral- anxiously pacing whatever safe corner he’d found inside the building.

_“Montral was here, he landed, but he didn’t come here. According to the office staff here he took some ‘troopers with him and went to Glitter, as aid to Governor Chalis.”_

Cassian snagged the hood down, cutting off more light and rain from the outside world. “Glitter?” 

 _“Haidoral Administrative Center One,”_ the Rodian explained. _“It’s what they call it. City a long way from here.”_  

He hadn’t taken this assignment without doing his research- Haidoral Administrative Center One was a major stronghold of Imperial occupation, and was currently under siege by rebel forces. Montral was only visiting this planet, but given the Empire’s little tiffs with Everi Chalis as of late, it wasn’t unbelievable that the other Mid-Rim Governor was making an opportunity out of the situation to look like a hero who’d saved a situation that Chalis hadn’t got under control.

“Are you positive of this information?” 

 _“It’s just what the staff is saying. And he’s also sent a message here that he won’t be arriving until further notice.”_  

Cassian shifted, trying to find a position with less strain on his back. Every part of his body hurt, a blinding pain that made it difficult to think, that he was positive he hadn’t felt since waking up at the bottom of the data tower on Scarif. Right now, he couldn’t interrogate his contact as he usually would, couldn’t ask the alien to meet him in person so he could complete his mission and the Rhodian could complete the job he’d been contracted for.

This was his first assassination order since Eadu, and there was still the blasted rain, taunting him and evoking memories that were still bitter.

It was also his first solo mission since being cleared for field work, a chance to prove to the Alliance that he was still a worthwhile contributor to the cause.

But he also couldn’t have a stranger see him like this. 

(By that degree, everyone was a stranger.)

He clicked his comlink. “Alright, Rig-Two. I’ll take your word for it. You may go home now.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

 _“Are you sure we don’t need to— I don’t need to help, see it through?”_  

“Don’t worry about that,” placated Cassian, smoothly. “As far as I’m concerned, this mission is over. We will go after the target at another time, on a different day, if we still see fit by then.”

 _“But- you will get him, right?”_ The sudden note of desperation in the Rodian’s voice almost caught him off-guard. _“He’s a bad man. People are dying on his world, because of him. You can’t turn your backs on them!”_  

“Rest assured, we won’t,” said Cassian crisply. “Goodnight.”

He severed the connection, dropping the device into the floodwater before gritting his teeth and turning over, uncaring in his search for relief that he was going to get drenched. He scrubbed the water from his eyes after dropping his head into the water with a sickening splash, cursed when the water reached his ears. But it was less strain on his back and on his shoulders. He needed to get out here soon. 

 _Not without seeing the mission through_ , he thought, kicking the camouflage hood before it could drop down on him like a body bag, or a cover over this watery grave. _Not without serving the rebellion again._

 

 

After a stint in the hot sonic that lasted for longer than intended and a change into clothes better suited for the weather, Cassian boarded the public hover rail that would take him closer to the war zone. 

Haidoral Administrative Center One was a region, until recently, defined by conflicting features. The roads were neatly paved and lined on either side by polished buildings made of glass and transpirasteel, with other spaces taken up by industrial giants that breathed black fumes. The lower-class lived in more modest, run-down houses that were too small for the families they occupied, in a letter part of town that had once thrived with local businesses, a self-sufficient neighbourhood. The streets were always littered, utterly devoid of the strict Imperial cleanliness enforced on invaded worlds- and ironically enough, only as a result of its industrialisation. Once upon a time, the line of mountains on the nearby horizon that glimmered during the day when the sun wasn’t blocked out by waste gases was what defined the region and earned it the name _Glitter_ from the locals.

Now, the buildings looked aged and shook on their foundations. The neighbourhoods were demolished and the streets were no longer orderly, crevices created by airstrikes making them treacherous terrain and the pavements piled with bodies. It looked as harrowing as any warzone he had ever seen, perfectly representing the horrors of the galaxy at large- death, disorder, smoke and fire, the Alliance Starbird responsible for one half, the Imperial flag to blame for the other.

Evening had fallen and everything was quieter, or perhaps the fight had shifted by a few klicks. Cassian kept with the crowd of displaced civilians, who seemed to know their way around the home that had become a dumping ground for grenades and dead bodies, reminding himself that he was only here to ascertain if Montral’s forces really had got involved in this battle and report back to the Alliance. 

But the locals weren’t doing aimless wandering, or sticking to a shelter counting their losses- as he found out soon enough, a message was being broadcast on all listening frequencies, and as he listened, the rebel forces fighting on this ground were looking for additions to their ranks.

Open recruitment was completely against Command's policy, of course, but who was to control every action perpetrated by the ground troops, this far out? And anyway, new rebels picked up this way were hardly a real security threat. Most of them died in battle before they even saw the colour of an Alliance Base, and the few who survived were put through through background checks and barred from access to any communication devices until deemed appropriate. 

It was easy bending in with the crowd of ragged, hurting civilians who either asked the rebels to leave their homeworld or to stay and keep fighting for them, circling the makeshift recruitment center despite the worsening drizzle. Cassian stayed in the back and watched- noted how the civilians were picked from line, watching a man in a standard military uniform assess and interrogate them one by one. Most of the men and women were ignored, instantly pegged as too old or too weak to fight. He observed the central plaza turned into a camp for this garrison- the Sixty-First Mobile Infantry, if he remembered correctly- with its tents and wide canopies providing shelter to half a dozen squads.

There would be no one better to ask than whoever was in charge of these troops, but for that Cassian would have to disclose his identity as an Intelligence agent. It was within his clearance to do so when required, but the fewer people who knew, the better. He had to have an audience with the Commanding Officer alone and not draw attention to himself.

The evening was growing darker and, in a small mercy from the unerringly cruel galaxy, the drizzle had ceased, not turning into full-blown rain like it promised. Cassian slipped from the line-up, unnoticed, sticking to the shadows and the busy crowds of soldiers in the plaza until he made it to the entrance of the biggest canopy, with a brittle foil roof high above the heads of a hundred sentient beings, and to the security detail lounging at one of the stands.

The man looked up curiously at his arrival, trying to place his face. He no doubt looked like one of the soldiers here, with a hidden limp in his side and unkempt hair and the obvious scars that marked his hands. Cassian could have easily slipped in without being discovered at all (in the back of his mind, he was concerned that a well-trained Imperial spy could’ve done the same thing), but in a first step to proving he was Alliance and he was here on good faith, he had to surrender a little bit of himself. He knew how rebel troops thought and acted. He was only playing along accordingly.

“Do you have a minute?” Friendly approach, without familiarity. The first step.

The guard frowned but gestured at him to continue, obviously unused to a formal conversation-opener.

Cassian spared a glance around, just to make sure no one was paying attention to them, before producing his personal identifier from inside his jacket. Holding it half-enclosed in his first for only the guard to see. 

“I need to talk to your Commanding Officer,” he said, evenly and calmly, with just enough self-importance in his tone of voice to hint that he knew what he was doing. 

Predictably enough, the guard grabbed the miniature signalling device from his hand, squinting to study it under the dying light. The Alliance insignia, as well as a numerical code that read Intelligence. If this man was as experienced a soldier as he looked, he had to know what it meant.

He sharply looked up at Cassian, a hint of doubt in his eyes. A paranoid case, then. But more on the cautious side and less of the don’t-trust-just-shoot type, which was amicable in its own right. “The hell is one of _you_ doing here?”

Cassian’s expression was carefully neutral. “That’s not for me to say except to whoever who’s in charge here. I only need a few words, and exclusively.”

The guard grunted, looking back down at the identifier like he didn’t trust it. After a few more turns and some prodding, his fingers chanced upon the concealed button and when pressed, a white lullaby rolled onto his palm. 

“I thought they were just myths,” he commented wearily. “That all your sorts carry suicide pills around. But you probably need this.” 

He put the pill back in and handed him the identifier. “I’m going to confiscate your weapons and you’re going to walk in front of me, but very quietly. You’ll be kept under close guard until the Commander can talk to you and _then,_ if _he_ decides you are who you say you are, you’ll get your guns back. Now don’t make a fuss.” 

Cassian kept quiet and cooperative while he was patted down for weaponry and his blaster, the knives in his belt and boots and the shock-device he carried with him were taken away. The guard discovered his break-in kit as well, but simply raised an eyebrow at him let him keep it. His comlinks were taken. Both of them.

He didn’t look like a prisoner, per se, when the guard lead him around the canopy to the back, even further behind the line where the gathered mass of sentients ended, an isolated corner that smelled of rain and vinegar and piss. Cassian kept a careful eye on the ground he was treading. 

The guard whistled and called a hulking alien soldier toward them, who studied him with exhausted, sunken eyes. The alien was at least twice his height with a stronger build than humans were capable of, with meaty palms that could probably crush a head between them.

“Intelligence agent, meet Grunter. He’ll be your caretaker while I fetch the Commander.”

“Intelligence agent?” asked the alien in a rumbling voice. “Where did he come from?”

The guard patted his massive arm. “Just stay put and look threatening.” He winked at Cassian. “Grunter is one of our best. He won’t kill you for no reason, but try anything funny and he has my full permission to blow your brains out. Or crush your skill. Which do you prefer, old boy?” 

“I prefer intergalactic peace,” grumbled the alien, deadpan. “I only crush stormtroopers. Not puny, cute little humans.” 

Cassian fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at the alien who was definitely far less intimidating than he looked, and clearly not making a conscious effort to follow the guard’s instructions. He also couldn’t recall the last time he’d been referred to as a _cute little_ anything. It was fairly disconcerting.

“Whatever. Just don’t let him out of your sight.” 

With that, he was left with only the company of Grunter, letting his face settle back into an impassive mask and he studied his surroundings without obvious curiosity. The gathering of soldiers, from what he could see, had tampered with glow-cubes meant for lighting to also produce heat, and many used rough camouflage sheets as mattresses and rucksacks loaded with weaponry as headrests. Precious reserves of bacta were being used to treat only those with life-threatening injuries, and while there were plenty more with bruises and bleeding wounds, they were lower on the list of priority. Everybody looked either tired or laser-focused as they slept on their sides or tinkered with blasters and scraps of armour, and in a far corner of the camp meal rations were being handed out.

He had never been part of a garrison of ground troops before, although he’d seen his fair share of this scene. Like any of the rebel bases teeming with life, there was a strong sense of community in this gathering- people making small sacrifices for the sake of others with more urgent needs, tending to each other’s wounds, exchanging stories around the glow-cubes- but these people, much like anyone who worked in Intelligence, knew that they couldn’t afford to form attachments, that friends were too easily lost. The difference was that they got along anyway. When somebody who’d been becoming closer to you was suddenly lost in battle, you briefly mourned for them and you moved on.

Cassian preferred not to form familiar bonds in the first place. Then there was no period of mourning, however brief. Strength was not wasted on moving on, so it could be channelled into better uses.

He knew how much strength it took, to just move on. He’d been there once, as a boy of six. Once or twice after joining the rebellion, too, before he’d known any better.

But he’d never learnt his lesson, not really. Cassian still felt the loss of Kay, try as he did to ignore it- Kay, whom he’d grown undeniably attached to over the years, who’d been less of a droid and mission partner than a friend and confidante. 

He still felt the loss of Rogue One, sometimes, all the faces he remembered going into Scarif, even if he hadn’t known any of them as well as he’d known Kay.

And now, he still carried the unregistered spare comlink with him, like a fool who just couldn’t let go. It was six months since he’d last seen Jyn and he hadn’t heard of her since. The obvious conclusion was that she was dead or didn’t want to maintain any sort of contact with him. If the former was true, then he was truly sorry, and wished in a small, private corner of his mind that a fiery symbol of rebellion such as Jyn Erso hadn’t been snuffed out so unceremoniously, a wasted life and wasted potential because High Command couldn’t see past its own pride-driven agenda. If she wasn’t dead and simply cutting him off, he should be glad for it. He didn’t anything more to get attached to and, with the life she lived now, neither did she. It was a course of action beneficial for both of them. So why did he feel empty instead of relieved?

Cassian stared across the sea of sentient beings, the hive of activity that was a rebel ground camp. He wanted so badly to be able to forget everything, and everyone. Eadu, Scarif, Rogue One- Kay and Jyn. He could not alter the past and they were never coming back. If he couldn’t keep himself driven and do what the rebellion needed him to do, then what was the point of his existence? If he couldn’t even fulfill his purpose because he was hung up on the past?

Eighteen months since Kay. Six months since Jyn. That was over a year of being less than useful to the cause he pledged his life to.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he cast a glance towards Grunter, who was also watching something in the distance. Closer, though. And not with a detached eye, or the reluctance of an intruder. Cassian followed his gaze.

The squelch of boots in mud, the chatter of voices. Grunter waved at the two women who paused mid-conversation to look his way, and they waved right back, not even registering the stranger beside the hulking alien soldier. One of the women had dark skin, cropped hair and a formidable figure. The other was slighter, built for speed rather than brute force, or maybe even both by the way she held herself, with similarly cut hair, almost boyish, and pale skin and tattered gloves and a murky scarf thrown around her neck.

For a split second, his heart stopped beating.

And the galaxy crumbled around him as he was caught again in her orbit, unable to rip his gaze away, and he didn’t know whether to send thanks or curses to the Force or whatever power that kept doing this, every muscle in his body twisting up and his heartbeat shifting into a rapid overdrive that shouldn’t be possible but it was.

After what felt like an eternity, her eyes happened to catch his.

Jyn froze up, and he was sure she was mirroring him, but the moment didn’t last because the other woman said something and Jyn snapped out of it, shook her head, and gritted out an apology before turning on her heel and leaving.

Grunter and the woman stared after her in confusion. His legs almost disobeyed him and carried him after her, and that might’ve actually been the case had the guard from before not returned with a cheerful announcement that the Commander had agreed to meet with him. 

_Was this the Force’s idea of a fucking joke?_

 

 

Early morning brought with it the most habitable weather he had experienced on Haidoral Prime so far, sunrays stretching across the sky and not a drop of rain in sight. He was given a guarantee that his weapons would be returned back to him at the actual time he was leaving, and he’d chosen to stay the night because of the venue’s relative security and the knowledge that there were Imperial patrols outside of rebel-controlled territory. Montral’s forces _had_ arrived here, in fact, but had joined these trivial patrols because they hadn’t been able to get any closer. Today, the Sixty-First was breaking camp, and then they’d be on their way to their next assignment, along with a small but fresh crop of new recruits picked up on this planet.

With the first rays of the sun, Cassian went for a walk within the confines of the camp, just for the sake of clearing his head. When he got back to the isolated (albeit guarded- Grunter and another humanoid had stood there the whole night, as if he’d try anything, even though their Commander had cleared him of suspicion) corner set aside for him, he was a little taken aback to find a visitor. 

Grunter looked up from where he and the other guard had been having a hearty conversation with Jyn, horrified.

“How did you get out?” he demanded.

“I asked you. You let me out.” Cassian warily eyed the three of them, who’d become considerably less merry after his arrival.

“Ah, wait, I remember.” The alien grinned, giving himself a chiding slap on the cheek. “Stupid me. I let puny human out. Because puny human is non-threatening.”

“Puny human?” inquired Jyn, raising an eyebrow his way. It was...strange, hearing her voice, after all this time, and stranger still to have her attention focused solely on him. 

“You are under-nourished,” agreed the other soldier, gravely. “When we get back to Base, I am writing a letter of complaint to your department. Rebels need to be fed properly.” 

“Right,” said Cassian, for lack of a better response.

Surprising him, though, Jyn looked somewhat amused. “Maybe you should do that. Force knows the Alliance can’t manage its resources.” She looked up at Cassian again, her easy expression disappearing behind a neutral mask, except he could tell there was a frown creasing the space between her brows and her good mood had exhausted. “Would you excuse us, for a few minutes? I have some... _questions_ for our guest, here.”

“Go ahead,” said Grunter, like this was a request she had every day, but the other guard was decidedly more curious.

“Why would you have questions for him? You don’t even know him.”

“We’ve met,” said Jyn crisply, the look she sent his way not quite a glare or an order to stop asking questions, but authoritative enough that the rebel stopped there. It wasn’t fear- fear couldn’t control curiosity like that. 

 _Respect,_ he realised. These men respected her role and her position in their ranks. The same way he’d felt drawn to her, seen her as an icon of rebellion who could have the galaxy in her hands if she commanded it. A woman whose lead he was willing to follow to war. He didn’t understand the gravity she had about her, but it was definitely there. It was tangible and its pull was strong. 

The Alliance should be giving her her own field unit, not tossing her into whatever open space they saw fit. 

She stayed silent while she walked beside him, gravel crunching under their boots and streaks of sunlight turning the sky pink as dawn transitioned to morning. A tense silence filled the space between them, not permeated by the sound of other sentients waking up or going about their chores. Six months, he reminded himself. This was the final permutation of six months’ unbroken silence.

It was Jyn who finally gave in, when they reached a closed-off corner with as much privacy as the crowded camp could offer. She leaned back against the crudely put-together boundary of crates and building parts, crossing her arms at her chest.

“So you didn’t know I was here.” 

He buried his hands in his pockets, unsure of what else to do with them, but the rest of his expression remained neutral.

“No.”

Jyn huffed, turning her head to the side. For a moment, it looked like she was contemplating the best way to tell him to fuck off. But she eventually dragged her gaze back to him, eyes dispassionate and difficult to read. There was anger in there, certainly, but he didn’t know what the predominant emotion was. It...complicated things.

“Two days after that shitstorm on Cortis Minor,” she informed him. “We were back on Home I. Transfer notice came again. That’s when I ended up with Twilight.”

Two days. She was transferred to another unit with only two days between a four-month ordeal with her team? Two days before being thrown into the field again, with a totally different set of people she did not know. 

He closed his eyes. Felt his fingers curl into fists, out of her view. “Kriff _.”_

Jyn laughed, bitterness ringing in her voice. “All the doing of your precious Alliance, Captain. Wait, forgive me. Corporal, is it?” She glared at him, then, the anger now prominent. “We brought them a victory and they demoted you, and they’re passing me around like a kriffing second-hand starship because that’s how results are rewarded in your rebellion. And these guys, Corporal. Do you know what the Alliance is making of _their_ sacrifices?”

Cassian cursed softly under his breath. He knew. “The Mid Rim retreat.” 

She snorted. “There you go. We’re walking over our own graves now, you know. Retracing our steps and destroying everything those people gave their lives to create. Do you have any idea how fucking betrayed everyone feels?”

He shook his head. “It’s wrong, I know, but these decisions are made with tactical reasons-”

“Bullshit,” spat Jyn. “Really? You’re taking their side? I mean, it’s what I expected, but I was actually hoping I was wrong about you.” 

The words stung more than they should have, but he refused to show it.

“Command has to make a lot of difficult decisions. They don’t do anything without reason. There are networks of intel and a system for making these calls, a cost-benefit analysis.” 

She brought a hand to her face, squeezing her temples close. Her eyes were shut, tightly, and there was too much of tension in her jaw, like- 

Something sick and too-familiar curled around his heart, tightening. “Jyn…”

“To me, this is like Scarif all over again,” she snapped, looking back up at him, her eyes rimmed red. “And I’m sorry if you’ve already forgotten what _that_ was like.”

He broke. He didn’t know how or why he took the step he did then, but he was acting without thinking or at least without reaching for his reservations, crossing the distance between them and gathering her tense frame into his arms, even though he ran the high risk of getting hit or being shaken off violently.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, holding her as close as he dared. “I’m sorry for everything.”

And Jyn didn’t fight him. Instead her shoulders dropped, her body suddenly a vulnerable thing, and she stayed where she was, burying her face in his shoulder.

He cradled the back of her head with a hand, praying that the motion was calming, wanting nothing more than to show how truly sorry he was.

Finally, shakily, Jyn returned his embrace, her arms curling around his shoulders and tightening.

He kept talking, desperate to make this right. “They’re wrong. They’re full of shit, sometimes, and they made decisions like holding back the Scarif op and throwing you into the field like this based on nothing but cowardice and pride, and you’re right. Everyone else has to pay the price for it and that’s not fair. But we don’t have another option, Jyn, we can’t fight the Empire without the Alliance. If you want out of this fight, I’ll understand, and- _kriff,_ I’ll even help you get out of it. I’m sorry for how I acted on that last mission. I’m sorry I can’t do anything now.”

Jyn drew back a little, her arms resting on his shoulders and her gaze fixed on his, like she was searching for his lie but also like she wanted to believe it. He wasn’t lying, this time. He was saying whatever that occurred to him, as it occurred to him, for the first time in his life refraining from filtering his words. 

He owed her the whole truth.

It frightened him, how weak he was made in front of her. He’d never just gone on talking like this. Singing his entire damn heart out. A part of him was disgusted at himself, and it warned him to stop now, before he did any more damage, before he dug his grave any deeper. 

He told that part to shut up, because a bigger part of him was ensnared in Jyn Erso’s orbital pull, and he _wanted_ to sing his entire damn heart out if she’d listen.

She brushed a thumb, featherlight, over his cheek, and it frightened him how much he wanted to lean into her touch.

“The first few weeks with Twilight were...explosive,” she murmured, her face impossibly close. Stupidly, it occurred to him that he could count the freckles on her cheeks. “The Imperials managed to blow up one of our strongholds. That’s when I lost the comm.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Before I could respond to your last transmission.” 

Six months of terrible doubt and furious denial that it affected him, and now he was learning the real reason. It somehow made him feel better. So his apology had gone through when it was still relevant. 

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

Jyn sighed, pulling back until they were no longer holding onto each other like a lifeline. He immediately missed the contact, but kept himself from reaching out. There should be a limit to this new strain of weakness that took over him in her presence.

“I was going to say you’re forgiven. And.” She cleared her throat. “Your offer. It sounded good. About having a consistent friend in all this madness.” 

He willed his racing pulse to settle, tried again to school his features into something less...fraught. Obvious. “And if you want someone to have a word with Command-”

“They’re not going to call off the Mid Rim retreat if one man asks,” Jyn shrugged. “But yeah, I’d like to hold you to that, too. Can you tell them to go fuck themselves?”

In spite of himself, Cassian couldn’t quite hold back a grin, and when she looked at him again, she was also biting back a smile, as bright and beautiful as anything he’d ever seen.

_Kriffing hell, Andor. Quit the rebellion and go write fucking poetry, won’t you?_

“Well, I did promise to convey any message from you.”

“Thank you.” Jyn glanced up at the sky, hastily turning into daytime now, and over his shoulder, where the rebels had started breaking up camp. “We’d better get going. Maybe I can arrange to be the one to take you back to whatever hole _you_ sprung from.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Cassian, falling in stride with her as they cut across the plaza, feeling a fledgling of something that had been almost entirely absent in his life for the past eighteen months start to stir again.

What was it he’d told her, a lifetime ago, on Jedha before the Empire had decimated the Holy City? 

_Hope. Rebellions are built on hope._

And Jyn Erso inspired hope in him, apparently.

  

It was decided that Jyn would be the one to see him off, meaning he could tag along on her solo supply-run and she’d drop him off at the safe edge of the city’s border for him to make his way back from there. He climbed into the back of a speeder loaded with empty tin barrels for storing the rations and ammo that she’d get off Twilight’s contact in these parts, keeping a low profile on a road less taken to avoid Imperial detection. Also at the back of the speeder was a young girl with unkempt hair and skinny limbs who couldn’t be more than sixteen years old. “Fresh meat,” Grunter had grunted upon his questioning look. “Want to teach her something useful by assigning her to Erso.” 

Jyn didn’t engage in much conversation over the course of the run, only opening her mouth to point specific things out to the new recruit, who predictably drank in every word eagerly. She didn’t talk to him because she didn’t know what she was allowed to say, how much she was allowed to reveal in the presence of someone else. Cassian sat back and did his part scanning the deserted territory around them. Rubble and ash and the remnants of war dominated the landscape. 

Jyn pulled over at one of the potential meeting points quoted by their supplier, finding them an area covered on all sides to wait thirty minutes. They would be out of here as soon as thirty minutes were up, driving to the next quoted location. Standard procedure for this sort of thing was to send a team, in case of a betrayal or ambush, but Twilight seemed to do things a little differently, and Jyn didn’t appear to think the risk too great, either.

“Will they meet us here, Sergeant Erso?” asked the girl as soon as the speeder dropped into a stationary hover.

Jyn shrugged. “Highly unlikely. Chances are we’ll have to go to at least the third location until they decide to show up.”

“Why is that?”

“Fear of Imperial detection, playing it extra safe.” She tilted her head meaningfully to the side. “I need to speak with the Captain here on a confidential matter. Could you go over to the wall and keep an eye out for hostiles? We’ll join you shortly.”

Cassian had to hide the tiniest flicker of amusement from his face when the rookie nodded at once, following Jyn’s request without question. She turned to him once the girl was out of earshot, leaning her elbows back against the door of the speeder. 

“How have you been?”

The question was so casually worded that he was momentarily shunned for an answer. 

“Busy,” answered Cassian truthfully, leaning back against the open spot beside her. “I’ve been busy. The Alliance is in the process of scouting out a new Base, and until then, most of us are mobile.” 

Jyn clicked her tongue. “So. No more muggy jungles and foliage. I’m happy for you all, I truly am.”   

“We don’t know what the new planet will bring,” he shook his head. “For all we know it could be a desert wasteland with no water. No celebrating yet.” 

She laughed, soundlessly. “No. I suppose not.”

There was a moment of somewhat comfortable silence, a familiar kind of weight settling in the space between them. For once, they weren't fighting, or running away from anything surrounded by a hailstorm of fire or rain. This was different from all those times, yet the air was charged, like one wrong move would cost him. At the same time he felt more at ease than in the past six months, and he wanted nothing more than to drop his shoulders and soak in her presence.

_That's the kind of weakness that's going to get you killed._

Cassian shifted his weight onto his good side, keeping his eyes trained on the horizon for hostiles.

“Do you like it here?”

He hadn't the right, of course, and there was nothing he could do about whatever answer she’d give him, but it felt imperative that he knew. 

Jyn shrugged, with way too much feigned ease than was convincing. “They're good people. Better than the last lot, anyway, and they try to have each other's backs.”

“Good.” What was it about Jyn Erso that made him want to lower his guard? Standing beside her stiffly and watching the horizon instead of looking down at her felt all manners of disconcerting. “I'm glad.”

“How’s everyone else?” 

“Sefla and Melshi join me on missions now. We’re almost a unit.” He paused, considering what he shouldn’t reveal. The Alliance was obviously treating him with a great deal more leniency than they were showing her; should he really be giving her more reason to hate them when they were the side she was fighting for? “They can sometimes be trying, though. On our third week together I learnt that they were in some kind of competition on who’d piss me off the most in the shortest period of time.” 

Jyn laughed, her shoulders shaking in his peripheral vision, and he knew he’d made the right call.

She judged him with an elbow. “And? Did you pick a winner?”

Cassian shrugged, but he couldn’t fend off a grin. “Sefla started leaving his finished mugs of caf all around the ship. There started being mugs everywhere. In the ’fresher, in the engine room, on the dashboard controls. Everyday, an unwashed mug in an odd part of the ship. It broke Melshi first, though, and he called off the competition in front of me. That’s how I got to know.” 

Jyn snickered, and for one wild, unguarded second, he imagine what it would be like to hear that sound everyday.

“I’d like to meet them again,” said Jyn, and they both knew it was wishful thinking, so she sounded only mirthful, not expectant. “If I was part of your crew I would join them. And probably win the competition.”

His mind was unusually scrambled today, because again it deviated, and he imagined Jyn as one of his crew. Seeing her everyday, knowing with certainty whether she was alive, maybe even getting to hear her laugh occasionally. He imagined the things she would do to deliberately tick him off, and he lied to himself that he wouldn’t simply grow more fond of her because of it.

But he didn’t have time to backtrack from this line of thinking and feel appalled, because just as the reality hit home that he was being _idiotic,_ Jyn’s young protege was running towards them with record speed. 

“Imperials!” she shouted. “There’s an Imperial search!”

“Son of a _bitch,_ ” snapped Jyn, springing to her feet. He had just enough time to right himself before she was climbing into the speeder, urging the recruit to take cover. “Cassian,” she called. “Wheel or gunner?” 

“Gun,” he replied, and she didn’t waste time, rolling over to the driver’s seat and setting her foot on the pedal just as he kneeled in the back with his rifle.

Jyn drove _fast_ , fast enough that by the time they caught a glimpse of the Stormtrooper patrol they were almost out of firing range, but he took whatever shots he could. From her place between the front seat and back, the recruit looked up at him with something akin to shock every time he loaded his gun. It was probably her first time seeing any action. 

“What the hell, Andor!” Jyn shouted from behind the wheel, but she sounded _amused._ “That’s not going to work long-range on moving targets!”

“Well, what do you propose I use then?” he snapped, busy keeping his eyes trained on the mark despite the wind and dust that whipped in his face.

“We have a bigger gun!”

At his look of questioning, the recruit meekly pointed towards the barrel latched closest to them. Cassian tossed his weapon aside, throwing the metal lid open. What greeted him was a heavy repurposed ship-gunner, brutal and stinking of grease.

The clapback was powerful enough that the speeder shook with each burst, but it meant more of the ’trooper party down, and faster. Jyn maneuvered the speeder through narrow spaces of rubble and caves made out of crumbling buildings, avoiding blasterfire that came their way, and even though the repurposed gunner was heavier than his frame and hell on his back, he found a fractional part of himself enjoying the chase.

Jyn let out a victorious yelp when they spiralled out of a treacherously narrow tunnel in one piece, and he started to understand why. 

They obliterated the search party in no time, him hitting the last of the Imperial speeders to result in a flurry of violent sparks that ignited a fire that almost touched them. But Jyn twisted the speeder out of the way and into relative safety, and the recruit turned around heaving and threw up over the edge.  

She finally came to land the speeder inside a hollow building made of black brick, throwing her head back against the seat and sighing in exhaustion. Cassian lowered the gunner back into its barrel. He had some questions for the operators of Twilight, but it could wait.

She turned around, casually throwing an arm across the back of the empty passenger seat.

“So, kitten, how was your first speeder chase?”

The recruit offered a weak smile before holding up a hand to excuse herself before turning to the side again and hurling out the contents of her stomach.

Jyn bit her lip, clearly amused, before her eyes darted to him. His own heavy breathing filled the space between them, mixed with bouts of hers.

“Never a dull moment with you,” she commented. Cassian wiped the grease off his hands, with little success.

“You complaining, Erso?” 

Jyn feigned incredulity. “Me? _Complain?_ Never.” 

“No, of course not.” He picked his discarded rifle up, checking it for damages. When he found none, he met her gaze again. “That was some good driving.”

She pursed her lips, visibly fighting back a grin. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

The recruit coughed, then choked, getting their attention.

“I hate to ruin the party,” she wheezed, “But does this mean our supply run is cancelled?” 

“It means our son of a bitch supplier called the Imperials on us, is what it means.” Jyn pulled out a flash from under her seat, uncapping it with a _pop_ that reverberated around the walls they were parked within. “Here, clean up. The Captain and I will establish communications with base and decide where we go from here. You can catch your breath and decide if you really want to join the rebellion.”

In the far corner of the room, they were halfway through getting in touch with Twilight’s head by the time the recruit meekly came over and stood close by, wanting to feel involved.

Cassian had seen that before. It was a decision to stay.

(He’d been there, once, following an enlisted agent around despite knowing full well that he couldn’t help much, except that if he proved to the agent that nothing was going to shake him, he might get enlisted, too.)

Looking at Jyn now, seeing her survive and survive again and contribute skills to the rebellion that were much needed but not wanted by those in higher places, he wondered if it had ever been a choice for her, tangled up as her life was in the affairs of the Empire and the partisans first, and the Alliance next.

“You don’t have to be here,” he told her, later at his drop-off point, when she walked with him to say goodbye. “If you want to arrange a way out, I can help.”

Jyn took both his hands in one of hers, and he was momentarily stunned, before he felt the familiar shape of a comlink pressing into his palm. 

“Talk when you can,” she said. “Something tells me I’ll be seeing you around, Andor.”

The feeling of his heart flipping in his chest was new, as were the unrealistic visions of a future taking form in the back of his mind. 

“Likewise, Jyn Erso.”

 

**The Colonies, Imperial Space**

 

Tight metal rings dug into the skin of his wrists, biting the flesh that had turned sensitive from days of being circled in shackles.

Sweat streaked in rivulets down his chest, soaking him, sweat and dried blood that smelt of copper, tasted like rusted metal in his mouth. It had been too hot moments ago and now it was too cold. The clinical white walls were intimidating, the air vents blowing too high and too fast. Tremors ran through his body. He was shaking so much that he could hear his chains rattle, making soft but grounding sounds, reminding him more than anything else of his current predicament. 

The blood in his mouth was dry. His lips were dry, cracked to an extent that was painful, and every muscle in his body felt stretched and every bone felt on the verge of snapping. He was fragile, he would break if he didn't get out of this soon, but he had no hope of- no chance of— 

No one was coming for him. Why would they? It was a risk of the job, a situation he had expected to face someday, for as long as he remembered. 

Stripped of his jacket and shirt and personal identifier transponder, he didn't even have a lullaby to swallow. It was his...fourth, fifth day in this cell? He couldn’t even remember how these bruises had come to be on his body, couldn’t recall the torture they’d put him through demanding the names of other rebel spies in the system. He just knew it had to end soon. He had to die before he talked, or he’d fight whatever they threw at him and let this drag on forever, giving them nothing, preferring to rot in an Imperial prison cell than spill the rebellion’s secrets.

Cassian looked up to the sound of his cell door opening, but he was only able to catch a glimpse of crisply polished black boots that would never belong to an ally. This time it was a powerful electro-shock device that was set on the table in front of him.

The Imperial kicked him in the gut, earning a hiss of pain.

Gloved fingers gripped the hair at the back of his head with brute force. 

“Talk,” said the faceless man. 

“F-Fuck you,” Cassian spat out.

He doubled over when he received a solid kick to the ribs, unable to hold back a scream. Something cracked. An old implant. From Scarif. It was his weaker side. 

“Are we going to make this harder than it needs to be, _Corporal?_ ” leered the Imp. “Because I have so many devices, I have so many means of making you _hurt,_ and I won’t hesitate to use them. The same way your precious rebellion didn’t hesitate to give you up, thinking the lullaby would solve their problems.” 

 _Do your worst,_ he thought, but it hurt too much to speak.

“Oh, I will,” promised the Imperial, like he could read his thoughts, and now Cassian recognised the voice speaking to him- it was Grendeef, this bastard from his past, but he was no longer Joreth Sward, he’d withdrawn from that role, so how was this man standing before him now? How had _he_ been the one to catch him?

All such questions fled his mind when the durasteel door opened again, screeching against the sterile white tiles, and three Deathtroopers- black armour with green visors, a painful contrast against all this white- dragged three bodies into the room.

“You won’t give me anything if I hurt you,” murmured Grendeef, hooking a finger mockingly under his chin. “But what _won’t_ you give me if I hurt them?”

“No,” breathed Cassian, paling as he saw the bodies, all still breathing but clearly drugged, unable to defend themselves. “Don’t do this.” 

But the Imperial was already crouching by the first body, and instead of the shocking device, instead of something he _understood,_ it was a crude and primitive firearm he held, one that he pushed to Jyn’s forehead. 

“It will only take one shot,” said Grendeef jovially. 

Cassian started talking.

 

 

He woke up in a cold sweat, sitting upright on a hard bunk, and it was only after he’d struggled to catch his breath that he noticed the overhead air vent fully open, blowing a vicious torrent that had raised goosebumps on his skin. 

He slipped back down onto the mattress, exhaling loudly through his teeth. The dream wasn’t new- he was shackled to a wall or a workbench, with an Imperial prying for answers and no lullaby pill close at hand- but Jyn’s part in it, and Sefla’s and Melshi’s—

He groaned, kicking the thin sheet off his body and swinging his legs off the side of the bunk. Now was not the right time to dwell on it. Besides, what were the odds of the Empire discovering his connection with any of them? If he got caught, he got caught. It would only be him because he ran his missions alone. 

Except for this mission, of course. They were en route to Coruscant, inarguably the most dangerous ground for anyone in rebel Intelligence to walk, and his crew consisted of people he cared about. Or people he knew. Cassian didn’t let his mind go down that path, often. Attachment was dangerous. He may have come to terms with a part of it- joining Serchill, or Sefla and Melshi, for a game of sabacc occasionally, or patrolling Base with one of them; the infrequent call to Jyn that actually went through, because it was a rare instance that they both had good enough reception on their ends- but a lifetime of being wary of it would not desert him in just three months. It was three months since Haidoral Prime. Five weeks since his last contact with Jyn. Not that he was actively counting.

He threw a jacket over his sleepshirt, deciding to take a walk to the cargo bay. What he needed right now was the freshest of the ship’s recycled air and a mind devoid of thoughts.

His two partners for the mission were already there, the holochess table set up, idly observing the pieces. They turned at the sound of his approach. 

“We might be dropping into a hyperspace storm,” said Sefla in greeting. “A mild one, though. Thought we’d stay up to see it through.”

“ _He_ thought that,” Melshi clarified dryly. “Only Taidu-kriffing-Sefla would sacrifice sleep to watch a hyperspace storm. What brings you this way?” 

Cassian sat down at the table between them, shrugging. “The thermostat is broken in my quarters. Who’s winning?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” admitted Sefla. “Care to offer an opinion?”

He studied the flickering pieces and their positions on the board, taking a moment to assess the situation. This sort of moment was alright. Just a break from the action. Camaraderie between soldiers, and if he kept at it like this- being an observer, not a real participant- he wouldn’t miss it when it was gone.

(That was what he kept telling himself, anyway.)

“I’m surprised you couldn’t figure it out.” He leaned back, and looked at Sefla. “You’re screwed.”

Melshi chortled, but he could tell there was no real humour in it, only a perpetual kind of tiredness and the absence of a numbing agent, like alcohol, in his bloodstream. “I told him but he didn’t believe me.”

“You always gang up on me like this,” muttered Sefla, again with the muted kind of smile, and he made one of his pieces move. Melshi countered with a move that had the piece hammered into the ground before it fizzled out and disappeared.

Sefla glared. “ _Nerfherder._ ” 

Melshi looked unperturbed. “Says Bantha-Brains.” 

Cassian reached across Sefla’s controls, pushing a button that moved one of his pieces to a far corner of the board. “Your strategy should be to spread outwards, first. They way you’ve been playing all this time, every one of your secondary pieces are far too close within his range. Territory in important in this game.”

“Territory in holochess is a myth,” said Sefla sceptically.

“You lose because you think it’s a myth,” Melshi pointed out. “And could you stop helping my opponent, Andor? I get that he has half a brain and that gives me an undue advantage, but with your contribution he’ll have one and a half brains on his side. Won’t be fair game.”

“Oh, ha ha. You’re a regular riot, you know that, Mr Melshi?”

Cassian sat back in his original place, resolving to smile good-naturedly and berating himself for giving up the post of observer. That was where it was safest for him. No memories made. No attachments formed.

Even as he watched the painfully one-sided match, though, he noticed that the two rebels didn’t seem to have their usual friendly energy between them. He knew them well enough to expect the usual bickering even when both were tired and run dry, and they weren’t even ribbing him as much as they normally did. In _usual_ circumstances, Sefla would’ve forced his help and Melshi would have sworn a few obscenities but accepted the situation. They would be talking about how much they hated Hoth. They would be talking about the mission, the latest technology they’d gotten their hands on, how they detested the Empire and wished they would see it when it burned.

Tonight there was none of that. Something was amiss. 

He watched while the uncharacteristically quiet game progressed, and the later it got, the more tense the silence became. They stopped reacting when one piece pummelled the other. Neither of them so much as lifted a cheek when one piece picked another off the board and slammed it down. Eventually, Melshi won, and his only reaction was a tired shrug and a murmured “ _Good game.”_ Cassian waited.

Sefla finally turned his way again, an apology in his expression before he even spoke. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s...bad news.” 

Melshi sighed, but didn’t meet his eyes. He was clearly avoiding it. “There’s no right way to break it, actually. We got to know, and then we just...we couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “So here we are. There was no hyperspace storm, by the way.”

“Obviously,” said Cassian plainly. “Most Core lanes don’t have those. What is it?”

Sefla took a breath before he spoke, like he needed energy first. He was careful when he ventured, “Hallik was one of Sergeant Erso’s aliases, wasn’t it?”

Cassian didn’t outwardly react. He was far too trained for that, especially when he saw something damning coming from a mile away.

“Yes.” 

“A status listing was leaked, two hours ago,” said Melshi, still not turning to face him. “One Lianna Hallik, from Twilight Company. Killed in action.”

It felt like a vibroblade through his gut.

He dropped his eyes closed, not trusting himself to speak. It was shock and dread and anger that coursed through his veins, burning him on the inside, and it couldn’t be, it _couldn’t,_ but-

“I want to see the list,” he heard himself say.

Sefla nodded mutely, tapping a code into his datapad. He found what he was looking for and slid it onto the table in front of him. 

Blurry letters stared back at him. Or perhaps that was the strain in his eyes. 

 _HALLIK, LIANNA — HUMAN FEM — KIA_ **_CONFIRMED_ **

“I’m sorry,” said Melshi.

Sefla swallowed, dry-throated. “Is there a chance it’s not her? Hallik is a common name in the Core regions.”

“It’s not her,” said Cassian. 

Now Melshi did turn, shaking his head placatingly. “Cassian-” 

“It isn’t her.” He didn’t know if it was his brain or his deliriousness talking, but he kept talking, because he had to convince himself. “She doesn’t go by the name Hallik anymore; she’s a wanted criminal in Imperial systems, under that name. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“Neither does the name Erso,” Sefla disagreed quietly. “And being wanted doesn’t really matter if you’re part of a ground troops, you know.”

Cassian regarded them both, only so he had something else to focus on, and not the damned line of text that told him Jyn was dead. “She goes by the name Erso. I know that for sure.” 

He didn’t. But what were the chances? 

It was entirely possible. Soldiers died in the line of duty all the time. They were sent into the field to function as valuable yet entirely expendable assets, and out there in a chaotic warzone, a good fighter could get killed just as easily as an inexperienced one.

But Jyn Erso? It would take a Death Star to snuff out _her_ fire of rebellion. 

Melshi frowned, like he was starting to believe it. “You’re sure about that? You’ve seen her records?”

“I have,” said Cassian, the lie rolling off his tongue easily.

 

 

 **_[CLICK TO RECORD NEW AUDIO LOG//]_ ** 

_[UNREGISTERED SENDER]: I don’t know if you received my last message. And I know it’s hardly a right time and place to talk_

**_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ **

_[UNREGISTERED SENDER]: Jyn, please reply because I want to know if_

**_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ **

_[UNREGISTERED SENDER]: What’s your status_

**_[AUDIO OVERRIDE: ERASE ALL]_ **

_[UNREGISTERED SENDER]: Jyn. Please reply with your status as soon as you can. I want to know that you’re alright._

**_[SEND TO UNKNOWN RECIPIENT?]_ **

 

**_[CLICK TO SEND//]_ **

 

**_[MESSAGE SENT]_ **

 

**Hoth**

 

Echo Base offered little in the way of sanctuary from its hosting world's atrocious environment. The corridors were frozen solid, needing to be scrubbed every other day so the floor wasn't a slipping hazard. Wind bristling with sharp crystals of snow blew across the hangars, frost accumulated on machinery and clogged up the heating system. Even the two-legged lizards endemic to Hoth found tolerance difficult, and they were tethered to a warmer corner of the Base. 

On Yavin IV, private quarters had been highly sought after, awarded only to the most deserving or ranked individuals. People were a little less crazy about their privacy on the new Base, however, because the communal barracks when filled with other bodies provided insulation against the cold and the more bodies, the better. Even ranking officers who'd had their own holes on Massasi Base swallowed their pride and moved in with other ranking officers they were willing to rub shoulders with, and thus crammed communal quarters were all the range on Hoth.

There were a handful, though, who valued their privacy above their general wellbeing, and chose to stick to the private rooms of the officers’ quarters even if it meant not being able to sleep most nights. 

For Cassian, it was also an opportunity to gather his thoughts, nevermind that he didn't trust turning his back to another sentient. In the quiet of his own quarters, he got to _think,_ and reflect, and wonder how and when his time with the Alliance would come to a screeching halt. 

It's so he can wake up from his nightmares screaming, and no one else would ever see him that way. 

It's also so he can meddle with an old KX-series processor snatched from the droid bay, chasing after a very faint outline of hope.

And it's also so that he can open his comlink, a dozen times in one night, waiting for a message that a big part of him knows will never come. So he can think of Scarif and where everything he’d built for himself started crumbling around his shoulders, reflecting on all the lost lives, all the _could've been_ s, the deaths he could've prevented and the deaths the Alliance could've prevented if they'd listened from the start. 

It was important that he got to have these thoughts to himself. It was better to reflect and mourn now than when on a mission, when the rebellion needed him at his best.

Six galactic standard weeks after their mission to Coruscant, and only three days after their return to Echo Base, Cassian stopped outside of his quarters with the feeling that something was amiss.

The lock had been tampered with. It was clear from the fact that it took so long to get it open. 

He entered with caution in his steps, keeping at eye open. Blaster in hand as every possibility flitted through his mind. Imperial spy, double agent? Some sort of test from Draven? Did the Alliance suspect his loyalties?

The room wasn't large, and there wasn't anywhere an intruder could be hiding save for the narrow space under the bunk. He checked there, and he checked the ‘fresher. Rifled through his clothes rack for good measure. His locker of belongings hadn't been tampered with.

It was only on his second swipe of the room that he spotted the note taped to the ‘fresher door. 

_The Cantina - 7.oo pm GST if you can make it_

His blood pounded in his veins.

He didn't recognise the handwriting; it certainly wasn't Sefla’s or Melshi’s or even Draven’s. But what would compel Draven to leave him a note of that sort? It could be Kes Dameron, but they'd already spoken yesterday, or it could be-

It could be anyone on Base, really. Sefla liked to joke about how he was romantically “backward.” Maybe the kriffhat directed a willing sentient to his quarters so they could initiate a meeting without having to actually ask him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time Sefla tried to set him up with someone.

Well, whoever it was couldn't have been very bright. Even if Cassian did turn up at the designated venue at the right time, he didn't know who he should be looking for. That note accomplished nothing. It was also difficult to believe that someone would go the lengths of slicing his lock just to vaguely ask for a rendezvous.

Despite himself, Cassian checked his handheld chrono. The meeting was set for forty-five minutes from now, and it wasn't like he had any other appointments for the evening.

He should go, if only to indulge his long-time comrade. Get his mind off the relentless thoughts that had haunted him since the Death Star. Maybe it would be a good distraction.

 

Forty-five minutes later, Cassian found himself walking around the brutal cold of Echo Base, if only to keep his muscles working. It was also an exercise to keep his mind from veering off in directions he'd rather not- because ever since the report of Jyn’s death, he was finding it harder and harder to remember himself. 

Even now, he refused to think it was death that had resulted in that line, that single line that had popped up on the Alliance database with her alias and the initials K.I.A next to it, but he wasn't such a good liar that he really believed this. Jyn hadn't given any sort of response to his multitude of messages asking for her status. And why wouldn't she, if she was in a position to do so?

A palpable pain had since settled behind his temples, one that drew his brows tight and made his jaw ache with tension. His comrades would call it grief, but he preferred to call it consequence. He shouldn't have grown attached to Jyn Erso.

Eventually, he retraced his steps, heading in the direction of the Base cantina. It required him to cut across the piss-cold hangar, which was thankfully empty in these hours with only the maintenance crews bustling about, heedless to anything but their own business, and technicians working on grounded ships. Cassian payed attention to his surroundings with the detachment he always did, except he felt less sharp, less inclined to really _care_ what happened on this uneventful walk to the cantina. Which was why he took too long a time to notice that he had a shadow. 

Cassian spun around, ready to demand who they were and what they wanted with him, fast getting over the shock of his late realisation.

A familiar figure skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the ice.

Cassian untensed, straightening. Still, he didn't break his gaze.

“Captain!” The technician stood at attention, offering at salute that almost covered up his embarrassment. “I wanted to talk to you. Sir.”

“Corporal,” corrected Cassian without a thought.

“Yes. But that's not…” The young Alderaanian rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “I don't accept that, sir.” 

Cassian caught himself before he could snort. He reminded himself not to be harsh on the boy, even if that constituted merely projecting his current mood. Mashik, who was only a few years older than Leia Organa herself, was one of a handful of Alderaan survivors due to fortunate- or perhaps, tragic- circumstance. He had been on an educational excursion to a neighbouring system when disaster had struck. He had been even younger then, and lost everything.

Children like him, they had little to contribute to the rebellion. They could enlist with the ground troops, receive a few months of training, and be pushed into the heart of battle with nothing but a blaster and a helmet to protect them. Very few survived to become seasoned veterans. But Mothma had insisted that no Alderaanian refugee should be allowed to take that path, no matter how fueled they were by anger at the Empire. Leia had met with the refugees and offered them other lives. Many had accepted the opportunity to be relocated to Alliance-friendly planets, to get a second shot at a civilian life. A few had chosen to stay behind and help the rebellion as best they could. Mashik had been one of them, and although the hurt hadn't faded from his eyes- a haunting that went in so deep they almost reflected Cassian’s, which had been borne from years of serving the cause- he was learning, if slowly, to live with what he had left.

But Mashik made Cassian uncomfortable in more than the fact that he was a mirror. Barely an adult in the aftermath of Scarif, he had gone on to associate with other rebels, straying from the small group of Alderaanians like him in favour of learning more, and he'd learned about Scarif itself. Whatever twisted versions that had circulated the Base, anyway. Secondhand retellings of the battle, accounts about the bravery of those heroes narrated by people who'd never known them. And a lot of people, apparently, had fed him tales of Cassian’s own heroics.

Mashik had been with the group of people who protested his demotion, and ever since the controversy had died and everything had calmed down, he'd worshipped the very ground he'd walked on. 

The boy jumped at every chance he got to talk to him, even if those chances were often months apart and his assignments kept him off Base for long periods of time. His admiration never faltered. He never stopped telling Cassian that he was thankful, that he owed Rogue One for the destruction of the Death Star, that he wanted to someday be brave like him and serve the cause like him, putting a spark of hope back into the galaxy. 

How the hell was he supposed to respond to any of that? 

_I'm not your hero. I have done despicable things that I would do again in the name of the rebellion. If you knew my story you would keep your distance._

Ignoring him hadn't seemed to work, and playing it hostile had only made the boy apologetic and guilty.

Before Scarif, he would've said the words that were on the tip of his tongue- but Cassian recognised one other thing in the boy's eyes that kept him from saying it.

_Rebellions are built on hope._

Flawed as it was to believe in a man like himself, what right did he have to extinguish the spark in the boy's eyes? 

“I was wondering if there was anything I could help with,” said Mashik, lowering his gaze a fraction when Cassian said nothing in reply. “With your ship, I mean. I noticed that it didn't have a very smooth landing when it touched down on Base and I think it's an issue that can be fixed, and if it'll save you the time of having to find another technician…”

He trailed off, but dared to look up at his hero again, waiting for a verdict. 

Cassian forced his shoulders to relax.

“I would very much appreciate it, Mashik.” 

The boy’s eyes lit up like he'd been offered praise, and it was the best Cassian could do not to flinch. He wished, not for the first time, that the Alderaanian had a rank he could use instead of a name, something impersonal that wouldn't connect them any more than they already were. 

“I'll take good care of your ship, Cap- _Corporal_. You can rely on me to have it fixed by tomorrow.”

“It doesn't have to be so soon. In your own time.”

Mashik’s brown eyes flickered over his shoulder, in the direction he'd initially been headed. “Thank you, sir. If I may ask, sir, are you on your way to the cantina?”

Cassian straightened. He wasn't used to freely disclosing his plans unless necessary, and it wasn't as if a lot of people asked questions about his personal schedule, anyway.

“I was headed there, yes.” 

Mashik bowed his head. “Just a heads-up, sir, if I may. The cantina is a lot more crowded today than usual. Probably will be for the next week. A regiment just came home last night and word around Base is that they’re depleting our alcohol stocks.” He offered a weak laugh. “But I will, uh. I’ll leave you be. Thank you, sir.” 

He watched the technician scurry away, like he’d suddenly realised he was pushing some sort of limit, and felt his body actually loosen up, his muscles untensing for the first time since their meeting. 

He’d come across officers who enjoyed having their shadows, starry-eyed new recruits who looked up to them and would do them any favour— but Cassian wasn’t made for that. He could vaguely remember a time when he’d admired a handful of Intelligence agents more seasoned than him. It was a long time ago. He hadn’t been able to see the ghosts behind their eyes. It was even before he’d procured his own ghosts.

Pushing thoughts of the past away, he trudged across the remaining stretch of hangar and toward the apparently crowded cantina. He could see from outside that it was livelier today that usual- as lively as it got when a large group of soldiers came home, albeit with their numbers severely depleted after months on end of war on the ground. It sometimes crowded over when the pilots had something to celebrate, and on cultural holidays of far-away or Imperial-occupied homeworlds. He only knew this from outside observation.

Cassian debated accepting his invitation, considering the crowd situation. He did not thrust himself into crowded places unless there was a requirement because he didn’t like that there were too many eyes watching to pick out which pairs should concern him. But crowds were ironically also easier places to hide in, and in this case, perhaps it was for the best.

He reminded himself that he needed the distraction. Maybe he could just meet whoever who’d left the note and maybe they wouldn’t be half as bad. Maybe they’d try coercing him to sleep with them, because someone who broke into his quarters to leave behind a vague note couldn’t have a lot of patience or subtlety. There was also the slight possibility this was a grudge meeting, though he couldn’t imagine why the mystery writer wouldn’t just confront him themselves in that case. 

Mashik was right; the cantina was swarming with bodies. It was a different world in itself, because Hoth can’t have been this warm, and yet here it was, in this room with bare furnishings and music that cackled static every now and then and fluorescent lighting that periodically flickered. Cassian endured the heat nonetheless, not taking his parka off even as he stuck to the warm corners of the room to make his way forward. A song with indiscernible lyrics played over the speakers and a multitude of people danced and drank while standing up, occupying the whole of the floor. Everyone seemed to know each other in the way they seamlessly, if intoxicatedly, interacted. Most of the rebels were loud and jovial. Couples- or rather, hookups- claimed a few isolated corners for foreplay that earned whistles and applause when noticed by others. The air smelled of jetfuel and sweat.

Cassian sat at one of the furthest corners of the makeshift counter- official resources, obviously, hadn’t been allocated to furnish the cantina, and so volunteers would’ve constructed the fittings themselves- and forced himself to relax, even if he was as far out of his element here as possible. There shouldn’t be any danger here. If there was, he could deal with it. Certainly there were no Imperial enemies, which itself was a luxury.

One of the two humanoids serving behind the counter walked over to him, and he slid a neutral mask into place. There was no reason any of these people should be able to tell how tired he was. 

“Don’t see you here often,” the Twi’lek commented, resting an elbow on the countertop beside him and shooting him a calculating look. “Do you know how charges work?”

“I assume there’s a service charge, and the charge for the drink itself,” Cassian responded blandly, fishing a credit chip from his pocket. “Just give me a glass of whatever you have left.”

“Twelve for service, thirty for the drink,” said the Twi’lek. 

Cassian slid fifty credits across to her, earning a catlike grin.

“We also don’t have change to barter with.”

She was pulling his leg, but the few extra credits really didn’t matter. It was going to circulate within the Alliance, anyway. 

“Keep it,” he muttered, to a delighted laugh before the bartender pivoted away, preferably to get his drink.

Cassian glanced along the rest of the table, at the handful of patrons who chose to sit in place like him rather than join the tangle of bodies and limbs that was the dance floor. Two rebels who had their heads in their hands, either from hangovers or in mourning, an alien who was chugging beer with a human comrade and engaging in an animated discussion, and a couple of younger recruits openly flirting with one another. Sefla and Melshi were nowhere to be seen, although it was still possible they were dancing and being loud with everyone else.

“Well, look who decided to make an appearance.”

He turned back around to see a familiar human female leaning against the countertop, a half-finished glass of something red in hand. She met his eyes over the lip of her glass, before a slow grin broke out on her face- he didn’t mirror it, not automatically, but he did make the effort to nod in greeting. 

“Lieutenant Srasha.” 

The Lieutenant mimicked his nod. “Captain Andor. Or would you rather I just call you Cassian?” 

 _Corporal. It’s Corporal._  

Still, it was a harmless compromise. It wasn’t as if his name wasn’t already widely known, especially after Scarif.

“Cassian is fine.” 

She flashed him a brilliant smile, all teeth. “Good. You can just call me Nadine, in that case. I do believe we’ve worked together in the past.”

“Once,” agreed Cassian, and here he spared a moment to take in her appearance because it always helped to learn something about the person you were interacting with. “Three years ago if I’m not mistaken.” 

Nadine was wearing a standard-issue vest and cargo pants, hinting at day of indoor training with the squadrons and recruits, but the training had clearly ended a while ago because the Lieutenant had had the time to freshen up, dry off sweat and apply a line of dark kohl around her eyes. Even if it was a category he didn’t fall into, he knew that a lot of rebels bothered with varying degrees of vanity when they visited the Base cantina or night mess- different things helped different people hold onto their sanity, after all. Whenever they arrived back home from a mission, Sefla changed into what he called _decent clothes_ before attending their debriefing, and Melshi had a specific length he didn’t let his hair grow beyond. 

“You’re not easy to work with, but you certainly know how to get the job done right.” Nadine shook her head, still with a slight smile. “You know, Cassian, the people in my crew still talk about you. Don’t worry, it’s mostly in the flattering sense, but…”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected. “But?”

She pursued her lips as if in contemplation. “ _But,_ unfortunately, it seems unlikely we’ll get to work with you again. Right now you are one very tight unit with Ruescott and Taidu, am I right?” 

“You know them.”

“Of course I know them. Darlings, when they’re drunk.” Nadine laughed. “Taidu has told me a lot about you. Still as strict as ever, apparently, but you always get results. He says you could use some help loosening up.”

Cassian really shouldn’t have been surprised when the Lieutenant moved to place her hand over his, but it had been so long since any kind of physical contact had come so casually to him that he nearly flinched. Nadine didn’t notice, however, and he managed to keep his expression schooled when she leaned in close to speak in his ear. 

“We don’t work together. It won’t get complicated.” He felt her suggestive smile. “Just between friends, Cassian.” 

Anyone in his position would’ve accepted without hesitance, but Cassian’s mind was hard-wired to look for loopholes, to find those things written between the lines. Lieutenant Sarsha had no malicious intention, of course- it was the same intention as anyone else who approached another soldier on Base, it was nothing new- but he couldn’t help but think back on the last time he’d done this.

He didn’t even remember when that had been. The fact was...somewhat problematic.

It wasn’t like he had _insecurities,_ to speak of, where an uncomplicated fuck with a mostly-stranger was concerned. Even if he was worried about his pride, he had no actual incentive to perform. This sort of arrangement would be ideal for anyone, even if they’d gone a long time without it, like him.

He didn’t believe in commitment, either, not when there was a war to be fought and a cause that demanded every shred of his attention— and yet. And yet. 

Cassian nodded, too solemnly for the occasion, and she leaned back, watching him. His expression remained impersonally polite.

“Thank you, Nadine. I’ll consider your offer.”

Nadine didn’t look like she hadn’t expected this response, and so she laughed it off, taking another sip of her drink. “Better hurry up, Cassian. It’s not going to stand forever.”

The bartender returned, placing a glass pitcher full of a murky brown liquid before him. “For you, Captain, extra ice,” said the Twi’lek with a wink. Her gaze farted sideways to the Lieutenant, who offered a welcoming smile. “Well, well. Is it true what they say about a spy’s charm?” 

“ _Charm?_ ” Nadine looked affronted. “We’re all here for the Captain’s Force-given good looks, and you know it.”

The Twi’lek narrowed her eyes at Cassian, studying him. “I suppose you have a point, Sarsha. He’s not bad-looking at all, for a human.”

Cassian good-naturedly raised his glass in thanks before taking some of it down his throat, feeling the liquid burn despite the ice mixed into it. It was bitter and unrefined, but it diverted the focus from how he was suddenly the topic of discussion of two people he barely knew. It also seemed his old rank would follow him wherever he went in spite of the new lapels on his jacket, a reminder of everything that went wrong on Scarif and everything that went to hell after. 

The two women were interrupted when another patron- a Lasat- pounded an empty pitcher into the countertop beside him, grabbing the bartender’s attention.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he slurred, struggling to enunciate. “Can I have more of- this?”

Cassian allowed himself to feel a little relieved when the Twi’lek grabbed the patron’s mug and stalked away to refill it, but all feelings of relief and the thought that he could once again slip back into the shadows fled him when the Lasat turned to look at _him_.

“ _Puny human!_ ” the Lasat bellowed. “It’s you, isn’t it? The Force connects us in mysterious ways!” 

His heart dropped to his stomach. 

 _Twilight Company._  

The ground unit that had come home was Twilight Company.

Grunter threw a heavy arm around his shoulders, much to the bemusement of Lieutenant Sarsha. 

“Do I have stories for _you._ What was it, like, eight months ago? You dropped in to say hello when we were on...ahh, Haidoral, was it? Are you drunk? _I’m_ drunk. Drunk as a Wookiee on a Life Day after party. Wanna dance? I’d crush you.”

On any other occasion, Cassian would’ve brushed him off, left the room because he was becoming the focal point of too much of attention. But Grunter’s presence, and the harrowing realisation that it was Twilight Company who occupied the whole of this room, and they’d all come home but Jyn was gone, long gone-

_Why does this keep happening?_

Why did everything in the galaxy serve to remind him of Scarif, or of all the people he hadn’t managed to save, or Kaytoo, or _Jyn?_  

“Excuse me,” he muttered, ducking out of Grunter’s heavy grasp.

The room suddenly felt too heavy, too crowded. The music pounded in his ears along with his heartbeat, which was far too loud, veering on unnatural.

“Where are you going?” bellowed the alien soldier, more in drunken confusion than offence. “What did I say?”

Nadine shouted something after him, but he didn’t listen, couldn’t, his whole world at the moment narrowed to the single objective of getting the hell away from this Force-constructed _joke—_

Cassian didn’t realise he was being followed, brushed off the hand that landed on his shoulder as an accident, unable to process anything over the pounding of his heart in his head. He pushed right through the middle of the crowd, earning curses that fell on ringing ears, and he barrelled through the thick of it with every ounce of his strength until he was out of the cantina and in the frostbitten hangar, the temperature change winding him like a punch to the gut.

He wished he did not drop to his knees and drive a fist into the ground, over and over again. He wished he didn’t scrape his knuckles against the ice enough times and with enough force that they started bleeding, and smears of blood mixed in with the hard white snow. 

He wished he didn’t then drop his head back against the wall, feeling the cold burn his back and make his implants rattle, and he certainly wished he hadn’t buried his face in his bloody knuckles, trying to catch his breath. 

He had to go. It was still too public, out here, not a good place to be so vulnerable and out of control. He felt tears prick at his cheeks and he scrubbed at them furiously. _Not here. Not now._

The last thing he needed was for Nadine- because it _was_ Nadine, because of-fucking- _course_ she’d tailed him- to crouch in the space beside him and say his name like she couldn’t believe this was him. 

“Go away.” He didn’t care that he sounded petulant. He didn’t even look up as he said. “You have no idea.” 

Nadine touched a tentative hand to his shoulder.

“Cassian, please.”

Cassian stiffened, because _no way,_ no way was he seeing things now, and that meant he needed a fucking psychological evaluation because he was definitely a liability in the field if this near-stranger was starting to look and sound like Jyn Erso to his eyes and ears.

Still he looked over his shoulder, fixing imagine-Jyn with the coldest scowl manageable. She- _Nadine_ -took a halting step back, suddenly less sure of herself, and that was good, he needed space, but the shock of green when he caught her eyes was enough to make his heart stop.

The Jyn Erso in his imagination looked like the last time he’d seen her; hair cut short, close to her scalp, a military uniform too big for her, a gait that served to intimidate anyone who crossed her path. But the Jyn he was looking at now was different. Her hair had grown out, for one, and it looked like it had on Scarif, and she had a fresh spattering of bruises on her face and new lines around her eyes. She was wearing a blue scarf he’d never seen before, and a worn black parka he’d never seen before. Her lips were cracked and there was even a droplet of blood in a corner, attributed to Hoth’s dry climate. Her skin was paler than the last time.

If he was imagining this, he was doing so in stunning detail.

“Cassian,” said Jyn again, and she came in closer, her approach hesitant. He could do little beside stare and wonder.

 _Evaluation. I need an evaluation._  

Jyn’s eyes flickered down his knuckles, which he’d burrowed into the coarse leather of his jacket. Her eyes narrowed with concern.

“We need to wrap that up.”

“You’re not real,” Cassian spat, and really, he should’ve felt stupider, should’ve been terrified he was engaging with a hallucination, but all he felt was tired and angry. At himself, at the Force, at anything that had put him in this place, put a cruelly life-like image of Jyn in front of him. “You’re _not_ real.”

But there was someone here, there _had_ to be someone, because the person swooped down to grasp him roughly by the elbows, pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. He didn’t resist, his head hurt too much for that, but Jyn- _whoever_ \- slung his arm tightly around her shoulder and made him stumble forward with her. Away from the cantina that was still too noisy. She supported his weight like she had on Scarif, his bad leg dragging behind them, and if the Force was granting him one small mercy today, at least he wasn’t visualising a beach in such vivid detail.

She trudged with him halfway across Base and towards his quarters, taking a less known route to avoid too many strange glances. Jyn, unsurprisingly, had his door open within minutes, and before he could really process what was happening, she was sitting him down in his bunk.

“Jyn?” he mumbled, unsure of what to make of the arrangement. “ _How?_ ” 

She wasn’t paying him any attention, instead rummaging his drawers for a medkit. Well, she wasn’t going to find much, he hadn’t restocked his personal medical supplies since Kay had stopped being around to badger him about it. When she emerged again, dropping to sit beside him on the bunk that creaked loudly, she had cloth wrappings and a drained tube of salve in her hands.

“What do you mean _how?_ ” Jyn finally looked up at him when she started wrapping his bloodied, frozen hands, and his breath caught. She looked too real to be anything but. It was impossible.

Cassian forced the words out, struggled to maintain his composure.

“I saw- the database- you were _dead.”_  

Jyn blinked, abruptly stopping in her tracks. “I was declared dead?”

“No.” His throat felt dry, and painfully constricted. “Your alias. Lianna Hallik. But it was a listing from Twilight, and it said...it said you were dead. Killed in action.”

He felt her fingers tighten around his, and he went he looked down, her knuckles were scrunched, and they shivered where they touched his. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, loosening her grasp. She went back to methodically wrapping his wounds, seconds passing by in silence, and she was done with his hands by the time she spoke next, with a deep breath.

“Do you remember the girl I was with? Who accompanied us on the supply run?”

Cassian furrowed his brows, but he did remember, although he couldn’t see a connection. “Yes.” 

Jyn’s fingers traced light patterns over his bandaged hands, and he- he caught her hands, without force, turning them over in his palms, starting to run his own circles. His fingers caught in the ridges of her skin, in the rough spots and broken bits, but he tried to be gentle. He didn’t understand why he was doing it at all, but it felt- well, it didn’t feel wrong.

Casual physical contact only seemed to come naturally, he corrected his earlier assessment, where Jyn was concerned, even if she was something of a supernova that kept spiralling in and out of his life wherever he least expected it.

“It was her.” Jyn twined her fingers through his, squeezing tightly. “She died. But, as is with all our recruits, they get to name themselves...they get to choose what they want to be called, and normally we have a few Leias or kids who give themselves warrior names, but Isaar wanted something else, something she could relate to, and I was the only one who made time for her and she asked me- she asked if she could have one of my names, and I told her she could. Two months before she died, along with countless others, and a lot of civilians. An Imperial airstrike.”

The loss and harrowed guilt in her eyes, he understood it. He lived it. Every day since he’d joined the rebellion, and more so every day since Scarif. It was nothing new to Jyn either, but lose everything, with the galaxy’s injustices simply piling up against her, with the way the Alliance had treated her since Scarif and with the shitstorm her life had been since then— he couldn’t begin to comprehend how she felt.

Couldn’t begin to understand how she still got back up, as if challenging the Force to do its worst one more time. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he couldn’t offer much else.

“Yeah.” Jyn’s gaze dropped to her feet. “It’s just the way things are.” 

It scared him how much he wanted to lift her hands to his lips, to pull her into a comforting embrace like last time, or to spout off reassurances that both of them knew simply weren’t true, but would be nice to hear all the same.

He didn’t do any of those things, only sharing the silence with her. 

He could adjust to this reality; it was infinitely better than the last, better because Jyn Erso was not dead. 

Cassian couldn’t comprehend when having someone else with him, a friend if he could call her that, had become a necessity for his survival. He’d done well enough on his own before Kay, worked most missions with the droid only as a backup voice in his commlink. Companionship had never been something he relied on even when he’d had it. It was dangerous to rely on people and dangerous still to get attached.

Now it seemed his very functionality was tied to her fate.

“You were the one who left the note?” He allowed an undertone of lightness to creep into his voice. 

Jyn looked up, the slightest of smiles twitching her lips.

“Should’ve signed at the bottom, huh?” 

He wordlessly murmured an agreement.

Maybe it was his imagination, but the frigid cold of Hoth was seeping out of his skin, an unfamiliar warmth spreading in his gut. Somehow, her shadow falling on him was grounding, calming.

“Why didn’t you…” He unconsciously licked his lips, a nervous tick he’d thought he’d abandoned. “Why didn’t you answer my messages?”

Jyn’s fingers tightened in the plain bedsheets between them.

“I’m sorry.”

He waited. Guilt flitted across her features. Her lack of response had been the thing to convince him she was gone, after all.

Jyn swallowed, before barging on with determination. “We were almost intercepted by a Star Destroyer. There was a chase, they sent TIEs after us because it was a rebel ship, and we had to hide out in a colony for days. Couldn’t afford to have any devices broadcasting signals, so all the personal comlinks and even parts of the ship were destroyed or disabled. Took an even longer time to fix the ship once the danger was past and navigate back here.”

Cassian almost laughed, almost breathed a sigh of relief. _Broken comlinks. I thought you were dead because of a broken fucking comlink._

What had he done lately to piss off the Force-deities? This game of lost-and-found felt like a practical joke planned by the wider known galaxy, and it had never been funny. There was nothing amusing about losing all contact with Jyn for months, believing her dead, and running into her again in an unexpected place only so she could turn his reality upside down all over again. This time, it was also over a broken comlink. 

“I’m going to be on Base for at least another week,” Jyn continued, impervious to his churning lines of thought. “I guess I’ll see you around, if you aren’t leaving?”

“I’m not,” he answered, a little too quickly. “Not leaving. We can catch up, if you want.”

“Good. That’s good.” Jyn bit her bottom lip, hard enough to indent. She pushed off the bunk, getting to her feet in a hurry, and the loss of her weight was so sudden his pulse thrummed just a little bit faster.

“Goodnight,” said Jyn stiffly, looking over her shoulder when she was at the door.

“Goodnight,” he echoed.

The door closed behind her retreating back.

_How did you go from Festian fucking poetry to awkward adolescent babbling? “We can catch up, if you want”? Really, Andor? What’s next, flowery prose over a bottle of jet fuel?_

Cassian scraped a thumb over his bandaged knuckles, catching a smear of blood. He frowned at the wounds, rubbing them in harder until they hurt.

_Get a grip._

The pain was potent, setting fire beneath the broken skin that sent tendrils of shock up his veins. They throbbed and ached in protest, but he didn’t let up on scratching the wounds. 

_You're compromised. You’re one hundred percent compromised._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to have 14k more words, but I decided to break it up into two for length and editing reasons.
> 
>    
> Exciting things coming next!


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